Of Moonbeams and Heraldry
by Captain-Nought
Summary: Post-Blackveil. Karigan awakens in the company of an Eletian. Together they return to Sacor City to warn King Zachary of Mornhaven's return. Rated for violence and mild adult content.
1. Chapter 1

Karigan stirred, subconsciously remembering to keep her movements small and gentle lest she jar the shards of glass buried in her thigh, her side. Her mind was a soup of fragmented memories bleeding into strange, nightmarish dreams. Zachary and Estora danced a dizzying walts behind her eyelids, followed by a string of serene, silent Eletians, their bright eyes acknowledging her but their faces remaining blank. Arists, Poets, Warriors… she groaned, pressing her cheek to the ground. She recognized one of those faces; that recognition set the countenance apart from the others, sharpened its lines and slopes. It was decidedly male, though its hair was long and pale.

She blinked… or did she? Were her eyes open? She felt the wind blow, felt something tickle her face. Grass? It certainly smelled like grass, and it was wet with dew. Or were those tears? She watched Zachary from over the Eletian's shoulder, his robes swirling a dazzling myriad of gold and scarlet that burned little streaks of light into her retinas. Yes, she was crying, she was sure of it now. The dampness that streaked her cheeks was hot and salty, mingling with the taste of copper as it beaded on her lip.

"Galadheon."

She glanced at the Eletian and sniffed. How foolish she was, crying at the mere sight of the King. It wasn't as if she'd ever see him again, anyway, she told herself. She put on a brave face as she was so accustomed to wearing. It was in many ways a mask. The irony nearly made her chuckle, for a mask had gotten her out of one mess and in to another. Brave Karigan did not laugh, however. She merely stared at the Eletian and waited, for she felt as if he had something to say. His lips _were_ moving. How curious that she could not hear him speak. Or had he already spoken? Her head hurt, and when she tried to move, she was overcome with dizziness, and the checked floor of the ballroom warped and crested like the waves of an angry sea.

"Karigan," the Eletian urged. Karigan didn't hear him. Zachary whirled with Estora, reeling back in her direction. Estora was now wearing a crown atop her nest of golden hair and laughing merrily- she looked alive, like a fire had been lit within her and manifested in the flush of her cheeks. Karigan fancied she heard the whoosh of rushing silk as the new Queen spun and Zachary caught her. They drew together and embraced heatedly.

Karigan's stomach dropped, but she set her jaw and merely averted her eyes. The Eletian was still standing in front of her, but as she watched, she came to realize that he wasn't standing- he was _kneeling _over her. His flawless skin began to show lines of sweat streaked dirt, the ends of his shining hair were matted with blood. He didn't seem to be hurt… but then she understood. It was _her_ blood. King Zachary and Queen Estora were gone, gone with the phantom ballroom and the court of Eletians. Trees stood in their stead, their black silhouettes dividing planes of starlit sky.

"Lhean," Karigan croaked. She attempted to sit up again, supporting her body weight on her arms. It didn't take her long to figure out that this was a bad idea. White hot, searing pain shot up the joints in her right wrist, branching out into her fingers and up through her elbow. She shrieked.

"Your wrist is broken," Lhean hissed disapprovingly. He looped an arm around her back and helped her sit up, hoisting her against something sturdy. She stared dazedly down at her legs. Her pants were in miserable tatters, held together by solitary threads in some places. What fabric that wasn't torn was stained a deep scarlet, shards of mirror jutting out of her thighs at strange angles. She could tell that she had lost quite a bit of blood, for her thoughts would not correlate correctly. She wanted to ask Lhean where they were, how he had found her, or if she was even still alive, but she found that all she could do was to stare down at her legs and puzzle over whether or not she was trying to move her toes.

"Not only that," he continued, tracing the fall of her eyes, "You are very weak. I was going to search for the others, but you roused and began to talk." The others? Karigan glanced up. "Yates," she mumbled. Memory came rushing back to her; of Yate's face reddening, of him shouting at her, commanding her to give him the mask. No. _Mornhavon_. She shuddered. More tears pattered hotly, this time onto her collarbone after they slid down her jaw. "Lynx. The other Eletians."

"I do not know what became of them," he said, pausing. "Any of them. We have been here for days."

"Days?" Her thought processes were finally beginning to thread together, the gears turning in her mind. Finally, she asked, "Where are we?"

He gave her a pointed look. "In the Green Cloak, as you call it. Near the Wingsong Mountains."

"A tomb," she breathed. "I was in a tomb."

That look that Lhean was giving her faded into something akin to pity. "You were not in a tomb, though you were most certainly suited for one."

"I'm going back to sleep," she murmured.

Lhean didn't try to stop her.

When Karigan next woke, it was midday and birds were warbling in the branches overhead. She stretched her legs stiffly, gritting her teeth as she rode out a lingering stab of pain.

"Good. You are awake. Perhaps now we can move."

She glanced over her shoulder to the best of her ability, catching Lhean's silhouette. "I don't think I'll be moving any time soon."

"Do you not think that your King needs to be warned of Mornhaven's reawakening?"

"Doesn't yours?" Karigan countered.

Lhean stared at her, his face set in solemnity. "You are a fool if you think you can make it back to Sacor city on your own."

Karigan narrowed her eyes. That sounded an awfully lot like a challenge. "Watch me." She steadied herself with her good hand and pulled to a stand, ignoring the way the world tilted on its axis and how her head felt unattached to her body. She limped a few paces before looking over one shoulder. Lhean hadn't moved. "Thank you for your help, but I can make it from here. I've done it befo-" Her mouth snapped shut in distraction, a nagging rhythm piercing the depths of her mind. It was very much inaudible, but the ground and the grass and the trees seemed to pulsate in a soundless, motionless dance.

_By bright of light in Laurelyn's step._

The Eletians! She remembered the same silent song and the twinkling of moonbeams fading in and out of visibility beyond the foliage. The moonstones indeed warred with daylight, silver overtaking gold.

"The message is on its way back to Eletia," Lhean intoned, noticing Karigan's realization. "As our journey into Blackveil was a joint effort, I will help you back to your King in honor of that alliance."

Karigan groaned. She hadn't pinned Lhean as the honorable type, full of youth and fire, but perhaps the mission into the dark, twisted growth of Blackveil had instilled it in him. Or maybe it was because she'd been the one that delivered the Eletian Sleepers into safety. She sighed in defeat. "Fine, let's move."


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely reviews! When I logged on today I was so inspired that I cranked out another chapter on the spot. I hope you enjoy. Sidenote- sorry, KxZ fans. I would list all the reasons why I feel Zach & Kari aren't compatible, but it would take up a whole page. Our favorite Green Rider needs to move on. _

Karigan felt as if she'd been walking for a lifetime. Exacerbating the discomfort of several open, seeping wounds was the utter emptiness of her stomach. Neither she nor Lhean had eaten anything but a small handful of wild berries to provide energy for the day's trek, and while it seemed enough to sustain the Eletian, she was forced to stop and collect herself every so often. Her body's cooperativeness had been short-lived; she traveled now on sheer force of will, but even that was almost spent. Her legs trembled and gave like a newborn filly's, nearly sending her toppling to the ground on several occasions. She glared at the back of the Eletian's head as she righted herself. He made navigating the bramble and fallen trees look effortless and his light steps made no discernable noise amongst the ambient sounds of the forest. He did not look back to check on her progress, though she thought she imagined his merciless pace slowing if only briefly when she stumbled. Maybe it was an act of alien kindness to accommodate her without outright acknowledging her shortcomings.

As the day labored on into twilight, Karigan had weathered enough. They had cleared impressive ground especially upon factoring that they were on foot and she was injured. Her legs were growing numb beneath her. She didn't bother calling ahead to inform Lhean that she needed to rest, for when she stopped, he caught on immediately anyway (as she thought he might), circling back around to where she now sat. His face was neutral as he approached. The length of the day had passed and neither of them had uttered a word. It didn't feel necessary. They both knew the direction in which they were going and had agreed to a common goal. What more was there to say? Karigan thought he'd ignore anything she said anyway, in that superior, detached way that Eletians did when her sentiments were deemed irrelevant.

Though the silence was welcome, she couldn't help but interpret it as an unfriendly stand-in for Yate's quips and anecdotes. She sorely missed the company of her fellow riders, even if it was the taciturn, but amiable companionship of Lynx, whose presence she could liken to that of a faithful dog.

Karigan dropped that tangent of thought when she occurred to her how pointless it was, instead peeling back the bloody fabric of her pants to survey the wounds in her thigh. She only then noticed that the shards of mirrored glass previously embedded there were gone, though she'd been without them the entire day. She glanced up and aside at the Eletian, who was gazing off into the forest with his head cocked as if listening. Squinting her eyes, Karigan tried to imagine how he had accomplished such a thing without medical instruments in the middle of a forest, for some of those shards had been deeply splintered in her flesh. She would not ask, she decided, glancing back down at her legs. It didn't matter.

"Thank you," she said. He turned his head, still expressionless, though she deigned that the fact he responded at all was his manner of asking a question. She was then more specific, "For taking the glass out."

"You would not have been able to walk," he stated matter-of-factly before peering off into the forest once again.

Karigan realized that he had not done her a favor, at least, not in his opinion. It was only rational to maintain those companions less able to maintain themselves, much like picking a horse's hooves clean to prevent further injury down the road. She wrapped her arms carefully around her knees, leaning her head back against the bole of the tree at her back. Her eyelids began to sag, her breathing growing shallow and even. She was so tired.

It seemed that she'd only closed her eyes for a moment.

She woke with a start, then squinted against the harsh rays of dawn. Rather disoriented, she did not recognize her surroundings. Then, it had been dusk when they stopped and she would not have been able to discern the break in the treeline, but the morning light revealed that they had settled on a grassy hillock nestled in a sparse part of the woods. A brook bubbled merrily nearby and the sound of fresh water spurned her to her feet. She limped towards it, groaning in delight when the stream came into view over thick foliage.

Gingerly, she sank to her knees and leaned forward to submerge her face in the crisp, cool water. She cupped it in one hand and drank deeply, then splashed it on her cheeks and opposite hand, careful of the broken wrist. She was considering washing her wounds when the bramble behind her crunched under the weight of footsteps. Intentional footsteps. Lhean was walking heavily as not to startle her.

"What?" she asked, rubbing excess water off of her face before turning to look over her shoulder. He held aloft a brace of hares.

"You are hungry?"

She sat back on her heels, twisting her upper body to have a better look. How he had caught the rabbits was a mystery, for they weren't stuck with arrows and seemed to be in one piece. She wouldn't ask, however, because she didn't think he would answer.

Her growling stomach betrayed her with an affirmation before she could respond and his keen ears apparently caught the sound, for he turned away and began to gather bits of dry wood and kindling in preparation to cook the meat. She went back to washing up while he prepared it.

Her legs were sore and remained in tatters, but at the very least, the bleeding had stopped. Her flesh was littered with scabs, some of which Karigan knew would turn into ugly scars. Not that she cared. Her uniform would adequately cover them. The pants she wore at present were near falling apart, though thankfully the portion covering her essential parts was unscathed. She rose from the creek side after she had finished cleaning the majority of dried blood and debris from her wounds. It would not do for them to get infected on the road. She then trudged back towards Lhean, pleasantly surprised to find the rabbits already skinned, gutted, and spitted. The Eletian was coaxing the fire to life, blowing into the kindling. He barely acknowledged her approach, but Karigan caught the flash of his pale eyes upon her. It was so brief that she wondered if she'd imagined it, for Lhean had shown little interest in communicating with her the day prior.

The flame took, engulfing the moss he had gathered for kindling and feeding out to the dry wood surrounding. It crackled between them for a few moments, the only sound aside from the awakening forest.

"You and your King. You are close?"

Karigan blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. Finally, she answered, perhaps a little too vehemently, "As close as a King and a Green Rider should be."

He canted his head, thinking her response curious, then looked away to continue, "How do you think he will react to the news of Mornhavon's return?"

She immediately felt embarrassed for having answered so sharply. What she'd identified as a personal question had really been a political one. She put her face in her good hand to hide cheeks flushed with embarrassment, pretending to rub her eyes. Lhean ignored this display completely, and Karigan felt a fool for it. Of course he wouldn't care if she loved her King- it was of no consequence to him. Eletians, she remembered, were free-drifting entities, well outside the bounds of human influence. What happened in her realm mattered little to them and he probably thought her actions were a petty waste of time or a detour in an otherwise meaningful conversation.

When she lowered her hand from her face, she found him waiting patiently for an answer, looking directly at her. It was an unsettling feeling to be under the undivided scrutiny of an Eletian, with their piercing eyes full of secrets, past and present.

"I don't know," she murmured. It was an honest response, if a lame one. Karigan couldn't predict the King's reactions to anything, especially not as of late. His engagement to Estora, for example, had caught her completely off guard, though the entirety of Sacor City had been whispering amongst itself about such a thing. It was expected of him to wed a fine, purebred, court-raised Lady, and raise a well-mannered, wise heir to inherit the throne. _She _shouldn't have expected any less. His previous actions and declarations of love had made her think that perhaps he was a break from tradition, though he never promised such a thing. She had been wrong, then. There was no telling what else she could be wrong about.

She brooded until the hares were adequately cooked, and they ate in silence before setting out once again. Karigan felt physically better after a suitable breakfast, though her mind lingered on the memory of Zachary and a crowned Estora lost in a dance. Lhean didn't walk as far ahead as he had before, instead lingering a few paces ahead and to the right of Karigan. It was strange, but she didn't have the presence of mind to puzzle over it.


	3. Chapter 3

On the third day of travel, Karigan felt as if she was regaining some of her endurance. It had been two days since she slept completely though the night, herself and Lhean taking shifts. They had come across signs of Groundmite habitation in the area and the Eletian had deemed them fresh with a mere glance. If that wasn't enough incentive for Karigan to travel more efficiently, he had also informed her that the woods were thinning, meaning that the border wasn't too far off. Perhaps another day's hard travel, he guessed. After they reached the relative safety of open plains, traveling south would lead them almost directly to the capital city, barring the sparse towns they were sure to cut through. She wondered briefly how the inhabitants of those settlements would accept an Eletian- an entity of legend and song- as he walked straight out of myth and into their realities.

With that thought, Karigan glanced aside at the ever-silent Eletian, surprised to find his brow wrinkled. She hadn't known that was possible. Not able to resist, she asked, "What are you thinking about to screw up your face so badly?"

He lowered his eyes to her, the expression fleeting like a phantom at daylight. It was replaced by politely raised eyebrows that indicated attentiveness. Karigan had already accused him of being aloof twice today, claims that he had fervently denied, and he had no desire to stir that argument again. Opposing the woman was tiresome. "The road ahead."

_Not the truth_, he thought, _but not an untruth_. Lhean had secrets of his own- secrets that complicated his solidifying companionship with the Green Rider. Graelaela had told him not to underestimate the Galadheon before their excursion into Blackveil had even begun, and her courageous actions within the confines of the warped wood had cemented her capabilities in his mind. It had impressed them all, but it also made them wary. Since the initial uprising against Mornhavon when humans abandoned their magical capabilities, Eletians lost much of their interest in the race, thinking that they were de-evolving right before their eyes. Karigan was an exception… and as Graelaela had once said, they were unsure of how many 'exceptions' to human close-mindedness were in existence.

The Green Riders as a group had garnered their interest, though not overtly. Not yet. They would require more time to accurately gauge their abilities. There was only the matter of _how_. As unfortunate of an event as Mornhavon's reawakening was, it furthered and gave opportunity to this particular Eletian agenda. Currently, Lhean was the only ambassador for the Eletians in contact with a Rider, and he was unsure how to extend the task without endangering either race under the threat of Mornhavon. The Eletian contingent that had stumbled upon them while Karigan slept had brought tidings from the Prince that troubled Lhean.

"What about it?" Karigan asked.

He frowned, deciding to end this facet of conversation. He thought that his answer had been appropriate, but it had not been enough for Karigan. She was glancing aside every couple of steps expectantly.

"You're doing it again," she said. Her voice was flat, her blue eyes narrow.

He halted, looking down at her alongside the bridge of his nose. "What does it matter what I am thinking about? Do you not have sufficient thoughts, therefore you must borrow mine?"

Karigan had kept walking, but now stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder, a clear echo of shock on her face from having been spoken to in such a way. She closed her mouth, as her jaw had dropped, and wheeled back around in his direction.

"If you must know," she began heatedly, thrusting an accusatory finger at his armored chest, "I was wondering what errant thought could have crossed your mind that made you actually show a bit of emotion. You've barely spoken to me since we left Blackveil, and if we are to travel together, you should really try to make yourself more bearable."

A muscle in his cheek twitched. What he had begun as a joke- a dry joke, but still a joke- had morphed into something that agitated the Rider. Clearly, she had been fostering disdain for some time now, for all that she had bottled up was being unleashed in her tone and venomous glare. He quickly thought to defuse the situation, then raised his hands at either side in a sign of defeat.

"You are right," he admitted.

Karigan lowered her hand, instantly confused. It couldn't have been _that _easy.

"Try to understand, Galadheon, that you are not the only one that has experienced loss in this journey. All of us grieve a different way."

Loss? What did he mean? She knew that he had lost Graelaela and Hana, but what had Karigan lost? She opened her mouth to ask, but shut it again, falling silent for several moments. Did he mean Alton? She hadn't lost anything tangible regarding the D'yer, only was denied possibilities. When compared with the events that had followed, that petty hurt seemed small in scope. Lhean could also not have meant the soldiers that had accompanied them into the forest- it had been clear that she was not emotionally invested in them, though their deaths had been keenly felt. As for her fellow riders, she hoped beyond all hopes that they were alive, somewhere, and intact. She remembered what had been said about Eletians being able to perceive possible futures and she found her voice again.

"Do you know something that I don't?" she asked, an anxious edge to her voice. Arrows flashed through her mind. He merely blinked, looking almost disinterested.

She pressed again: "Lhean."

"I apologize," he finally said. "I did not intend to point out anything that you were not already aware of."

_So he misspoke? Accidentally_? Karigan's index finger was still extended, though at her side, and she crumpled her fingers to her palm before biting one knuckle. It was possible that he had, for Lhean was still comparatively young and ill-versed in diplomatic conversation. But then…

The image of Zachary and Estora pervaded her thoughts once again, and Lhean raised his head as it did, as if he was privy to it. He appeared nearly fascinated, tilting his head the slightest degree to the right. His bloodied hair fell loose over one shoulder.

"That," she mumbled to herself, "Is ludicrous."

"Is it?" he asked. "It is ludicrous for a human to transcend time and to meddle in the affairs of the past, then."

She shook her head at him in disbelief. "That's different- that's-"

"No," he interrupted. "It is not quite so different at all. When will you abandon your preconception and suspicion in favor of logic?"

"When will _you _quit speaking in riddles?" she nearly shouted, exasperated.

"I think that this conversation is getting us nowhere but behind schedule," he said icily, brushing past her to continue on their trek. Perhaps now she would understand why he rarely spoke about anything other than the necessary.

Karigan followed after him and together they traveled deep into the night.

_Author's Note: Hey, guys. I promise that once they make it out of the forest, chapters will lengthen. Thank you for the reviews! To address a few of the comments/concerns: No, Karigan is not going to fall for Fastion in this fic. I have more interesting twists I plan on instilling here. And yes, Lhean is a little stuffy... you will find out why in later chapters ;). _


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: Picking up the pace here. As for KxL, we shall see. _

Dawn heralded distant thunder as a rainstorm swept into the area. Karigan was on watch when the first drops fell, the icy collision startling her from unpleasant thoughts. When all was silent, her heart pulled her mind into the gravity of its conflict. Zachary was predominant there, though Estora stood a bright and regal figure at his side. Karigan dragged her eyes hazily from the campfire and settled them on the sleeping Eletian. Shielded as he was by the overhanging boughs, he probably had not felt the rain yet and remained peacefully asleep. He was sitting upright, his elbows propped on both knees and long-fingered hands hanging limp. Though he leaned against a tree, his head was level to the ground with eyes shut as if merely resting. As he could not catch her staring, she allowed herself to do so.

Even though he was bloodied and dirt edged his clothing from hard travel, he appeared ethereally beautiful- detached from the plane that housed him. Indeed, he seemed to exude a light all his own. Karigan couldn't help but feel similar to a moth drawn to flame. For beautiful he was, neither she nor any other human could gauge how potentially dangerous Eletians were.

The rain picked up now, transitioning from a couple of pattering droplets to a near downpour in a matter of moments. Overhead, the looming clouds were fat and gray.

"Lhean," she finally called across the struggling fire. The rain suited her just fine; in fact, it would wash away any signs of travel that they left behind in the event that Groundmites were prowling the area. The Eletian's eyes opened, cutting aside to her as he stood in one fluid motion. A shallow indentation appeared between his eyebrows.

"You should have woken me hours ago," he said. His voice was soft and curious, a far cry from the demeaning tone that persisted long after their argument.

"I couldn't sleep anyway," Karigan said grumpily. It was true. She'd tossed and turned when Lhean took first watch and had lain awake for quite some time before she relieved him. She staggered to her feet, and then rubbed her bleary eyes with a forearm. "How long before we clear the Cloak?" she asked, referring to the forest in which they stood.

He dashed out the fire, which wasn't difficult with the help of the rain. "Perhaps by noon, if not sooner." When he raised his eyes to align with those of the Green Rider, she had already turned and began to trudge in the proper direction. He followed, pondering.

The rain was uncharacteristically cool for the season and fell in sheets. It wasn't long before the two were soaked through, but Karigan merely slicked her hair back out of her face and drove on through the bramble. She had weathered worse. Having traveled through hail, wind, and feet of packed snow, a little rain wasn't going to hinder her. Water squelched in her boots, her hair hanging in drenched tendrils, but she felt awake for it.

This newfound alertness quite possibly saved her life. She halted in the sodden underbrush, aware that something felt off-balance about her surroundings. Not a fraction of a moment afterwards, a hatchet spun past her head and embedded itself a tree with a reverberating thud. Lhean raised his bow in an instant, an arrow notched taut to the string. With a barely audible _twhip, _it sailed in the direction that the hatchet had been thrown from, precipitating a cry that Karigan instantly recognized as neither human nor animal.

"Groundmites," she growled through gritted teeth, then cursed. They were a nuisance, but a dangerous one. Even before a chorus of other cries sounded in the woods, Karigan knew that there was more than just the one that Lhean had killed. They traveled in packs like wolves. Lhean was picking them off gravely, but even with his inhuman speed, heavy footfall crashed towards them. He simply could not kill them all before they reached them. Karigan watched the humanoid figures descend upon them, reaching for a saber that was no longer there. Even her bonewood staff was missing.

"Here." Lhean shoved a long knife into her good hand, which happened to be her non-dominant one. She silently thanked whatever Gods were listening that the Weapons had trained her to be an ambidextrous fighter. She turned it over, marveling at the pommel. It looked to be made of the same material as the inside of an oyster- white, and shot through with pale pink and silver bands. The artistry of the blade itself was beautiful. She could detect no indentations from a blacksmith's hammer and blasted up the sides was a pattern of vines and leaves. This probably served to funnel blood away from the pommel. She looked up, but Lhean had turned away. The Groundmites were lumbering into a range at which it would be appropriate to fight them with blades over arrows. He drew a sword from the sheath at his side, once again regarding her coolly. "I will keep them off of you the best that I can. You must be sure that they do not encircle us."

She didn't have time to confirm, for a Groundmite bore down on Lhean with a club that he easily parried and turned away, driving his sword into its gut with a disemboweling twist. He kicked the corpse back to free his weapon and in that same motion whirled to catch the falling spear of another. He hacked the blade into its neck, effectively beheading the creature. The severed skull rolled to the earth and landed dully. Karigan's mouth was hanging open. The Eletian's method of fighting was more akin to dance than a battle stance, graceful and deadly all the same. Two heavy bodies now lay between himself and the Green Rider, but Karigan counted four more on the way. They were split into equal groups, one readying to engage Lhean. The others were charging in her direction.

She was aware of clashing blades as Lhean engaged his assailants- then, she dove forward, slipping between the two that had targeted her. Fortunately, Karigan was quick on her feet despite the wounds she'd suffered and the large, catlike humanoids were rather slow. She sank Lhean's knife between the shoulder blades of one, driving all the force she could muster behind it while the other rallied to pull her off. The injured Groundmite loosed an ear-splitting howl into the depths of the forest as it crumpled to the ground.

Karigan just barely dodged the blow of an axe and the wind that it generated stirred her hair. Later, she would realize that it had actually sliced through a thick tendril, leaving it noticeably shorter than the rest. Rage over the defeat of its companion had made the Groundmite clumsy, for its heavy blade was embedded in a fallen trunk. While it struggled to retrieve it, Karigan withdrew her weapon from the dying Groundmite and went for the throat. The knife, though it was just a knife, was long for a one-handed weapon, probably better suited for larger hands. It was difficult to maneuver, but she managed to take advantage of the Groundmite's distraction and drew the blade clean through the creature's jugular, severing the windpipe and tendons in one wrenching slice. It made a terrible gargling sound before it, too, tumbled into the wet leaves underfoot.

She pulled her hand back, realizing only now that it was covered to the elbow in scarlet blood. She raised her head to find Lhean. At some point during her own struggle, a straggler had emerged from the forest that was now stalking up behind him as he dispatched his remaining opponent. Lhean was so preoccupied in his task that he did not notice, and the Groundmite was advancing quickly. Karigan, unthinking, took a running start and hurled herself at the creature to lock one arm around its neck, bracing herself against the other.

That instant, searing pain shot up her arm once again as she grabbed her broken wrist for leverage. The Groundmite was trying to shake her off, waving its weapon through the air wildly and clacking its fangs together in irritation. She couldn't imagine she was doing more than annoying the creature, for its neck was so thick that her arms barely locked around it as she was sprawled out on its back. The distraction, however, might have spared Lhean's life. The Eletian made quick work of his Groundmite before turning to finish off the one that Karigan was suppressing. Before he reached them, the creature rammed a fist back into her face, its rough knuckles catching her lip and splitting it against her teeth before scraping up her cheek. Her broken wrist popped against the strain- a disgusting, wet sound- and she screamed despite herself. Her arms inadvertently seized up and sent her crashing back into the forest floor. The smell of blood intermingled with the lingering bolt of pain bogged down her senses. She could do nothing but clutch at her wrist and try to clear the shoots of silver against her eyelids.

Lhean brought his sword crashing down on the Groundmite's head as it turned to deliver a killing blow and it lurched forward with a visibly cloven skull. Cerebral fluid spattered Karigan as the Groundmite fell with a dying shriek onto the ground a mere inch away from her. Lhean hurried to her side, sheathing his sword, and reached down to help her up.

"There will be more," he warned. At her hesitation, he added, "We need to move swiftly."

A strangled gasp tore free from her lips as she moved to sit up. Her head was swimming, her whole arm felt ablaze… and then she realized that her wrist was completely limp, hand loosely hanging as if connected by a flap of skin. Her eyes flew wide open.

"Shh," Lhean urged as he knelt. His fingertips were cool on her arm. They probed the cartilage and series of small bones there, making her whimper. He glanced up, pale eyes flashing. "I will fashion you a splint when we next stop. You can walk, correct?"

She nodded miserably. She was sure that if she spoke, the bile rising in the back of her throat would make her retch. His hands shifted to her upper arm and he supported her weight while she stood.

He murmured encouragements as they began to walk again, a slow pace at first that broke into a light sprint. That jarred her wrist, but she called upon Brave Karigan, detaching herself from the pain. She kept her mind on her legs, her feet. One step, another step. It was a rhythm now- a rhythm like hoof beats. She closed her eyes, allowing Lhean to guide her. She dropped her injured wrist to her side, bringing the other up so that her hand enclosed her brooch. She inhaled deeply.

She felt the shockwave of surprise tense through Lhean's musculature. "What are you doing?" he demanded. His voice was quiet, nearly a hiss. His senses were filled with the acrid tinge of magic, the landscape growing muted. Behind them, the forest rang with mounting howls that sounded somewhat mournful, but undeniably angered. More Groundmites must have stumbled upon the carnage.

Karigan looked aside and up at him, and for the first time, Lhean was taken aback by what he saw. They were the same eyes- blue, wide, fringed with thick lashes- but something in them was unfathomably deep, as if the universe was mirrored behind them. As if a well of infinite, ancient knowledge resided there. The brooch was shining gold beneath her touch, a point of unbearable light in the monotone surroundings. Clearly, this object acted as a sort of medium. A medium, perhaps, that allowed her to tap into her own magical abilities. Maybe it siphoned them. Maybe… maybe it kept them in check.

Thought weighed heavy on his brow, and he forced his gaze elsewhere. It would not do to make assumptions.


	5. Chapter 5

Karigan felt a nagging sense of familiarity pervade her weary travel. She stopped walking, Lhean jerking to a halt at her side and granting her an inquisitive glance. The grayness of the world bled away, colors winking back into visibility as her spell was lifted. "Wards," she murmured. This place was thick with them, the open air swarming with words spoken long ago to deflect detection and intrusion. Her brooch sang on her lapel.

"It's a Rider waystation," she explained, a lilt of excitement mounting in her voice. "We can rest here. Resupply." Even as she spoke, she was turning her head from side to side, eyes searching for a break in the trees to indicate any sign of settlement. She found it upon walking forward a few paces. A log-hewn cottage of modest proportion appeared with the evanescence of a mirage from behind bowed eaves. The sides were swathed in ivy camouflage and dotted with moss and lichen, though the structure stood strong against the test of time… much like the Green Riders that sought shelter there. She nearly cried for all her relief. There would be clothes, food, and bandages within. She all but sprinted towards the door, ignoring the hush of the forest and the sharp, invasive warning of the wards that broke against her like waves. Perhaps they had been recently renewed and were overactive. Karigan could find no other explanation that they would seek to turn her away.

The Eletian lingered several paces behind, alert and listening intently to the same silent message.

"Galadheon," he said. His tone was sharp with caution. Before he could continue, she burst into the cottage, instantly met by the smell of rot. She threw her face into the crook of her arm, unable to pull her eyes away from the sight that greeted her.

A corpse clothed in Rider green was sprawled on the small bed within, its hands wrapped securely around the pommel of a saber clutched dutifully on its chest in death. She stumbled forward despite herself, ignoring her churning stomach. Dried blood was_ everywhere. _The floor, the bed… the body. The woman- for it was a woman, judging by the stature and long, auburn hair- was missing a leg from the knee down, the edge of her greatcoat in tatters. She stared lifelessly at the ceiling, eyes milky and vacant. Her face was youthful and comely, maybe seventeen summers. Karigan's heart broke at the sight of it. So young… so new that she hadn't even met her. She had probably been called during her expedition to Blackveil.

"_Karigan_!" Lhean's voice reached her, tinged with worry and frustration, as if he'd been calling to her for several minutes. Perhaps he had. Her vision blurred, her shoulders shook. She was too weary to weep, but a keen pain branched out from her heart, twisting her throat. The sensation only deepened when she blinked her eyes clear to study the wound. The exposed bone was splintered, the remaining fragments bearing deep pockmarks. Fang marks.

Her leg had been _gnawed off_.

Groundmites. The saber laid upon her chest was stained a proud maroon, and Karigan felt a sense of justice when she realized that this rider had overcome a debilitating, life-claiming injury to slay her attackers. She guessed that she had then stumbled back to the waystation to die with dignity away from the predators of the forest, for there was no sign that another Rider had accompanied her.

She looked quickly around the cabin, and then strode to the armoire with purpose. Lhean watched her throw the doors open and rifle through the stores, looking for something. He stepped in behind her and succinctly bowed his head and shut his eyes in respect for the life that had passed there.

Karigan tossed something on the ground. It was a blanket. She spread it out so that it lay flat, then approached the body. Lhean could hardly believe his eyes as she began to move it by the clothing so that the stinking, fragile flesh would not burst open on her hands. He helped her ease the woman on the blanket and carefully lifted her. Karigan turned to retrieve a shovel from the stores.

Together, they set about to the grim task of burying the nameless Rider. The rain had tapered off to a drizzle that favored their labors, but the clouds loomed ominously overhead. In the garden around the back of the cottage were two mounds of dirt- buried messengers that had likely met their end in this stretch of territory.

Their chore was finished with the setting sun. Karigan gazed at the fresh mound of dirt with tears in her eyes, the stench of death in her clothes and hair, mud intermingled with Groundmite blood coating her good arm. Her hand flexed absently around the Rider's brooch before she deposited it into her pocket. It, like every other brooch, would find its way back to Captain Mapstone. She almost missed the soft sound of jingling, but as it grew nearer, she raised her head. It sounded familiar, she realized. It was a horse's tack.

She spun around to find a gaunt messenger horse staring her in the face. She guessed that it had belonged to the deceased Rider, who maintained the presence of mind to leave him roaming free in the event of her death instead of tethered in the stables awaiting a slow expiration from starvation and thirst.

"He has been watching us lay his Rider to rest." Lhean's voice startled her. He had been silent for a long while. "I was not sure if he would approach us."

Karigan _was_ crying now, though silently. She looped her fingers in the gelding's bridle. A golden nameplate flashed in the dying light and she traced her fingers over it.

"Finch," she read. She hiccupped through her tears. This devoted creature had kept vigil over its master until they had arrived. She ran her hand over Finch's velvet nose, then down his neck with a soft pat. His gray-and-white coat was in sorry shape, littered with burrs and rubbed raw beneath the saddle. She set about to removing his tack with the realization that such a familiar action served as a distraction from her current state. Finch huffed approvingly. Though she worked with one hand, it felt good to clear her thoughts. Yes, tedious labor would be welcome.

The stable attached to the cottage was well-stocked with preserved grain and a variety of combs and picks. She clutched her bad wrist to her chest, filling a trough with water from a reserve tank. Finch sighed deeply as he lowered his face to the water and began to drink. Karigan circled around him with a currycomb and worked with short, deft strokes to remove the debris from his flank.

Night was well underway before Lhean forced her to stop.

"He is well cared for," he was saying, not the first of many reasons he had listed to dissuade her. "You, however, are in need of mending."

She patted Finch's side after she finished picking one hoof clean, and he lowered it with a snort. She rose to her feet, for the task had required the use of her knee on which to balance it due to her inability to use both hands. She brushed hay-dust off of her ruined clothing, leveling her eyes at Lhean's. The Eletian looked… concerned?

As she frowned, she became aware of her stinging lip, a feeling that had been present all day. She'd ignored it, of course, having more urgent matters to attend to, but now she was beginning to come back to herself. The entirety of her body ached and her head throbbed with the remnants of a migraine onset by her usage of magic. She realized suddenly that the voices of the wards had been satisfied. They were no longer nagging at the back of her mind.

"Come," Lhean said. She followed him back to the cottage after bidding Finch a good night.

He had occupied himself with ridding the blood and rot from the cabin, for the stained sheets on the bed were missing and the floor had been scrubbed clean. The straw mattress still bore a dark stain, but in all, the room smelled only minutely of death, overpowered by herbs that Lhean had found growing nearby.

"I'm not sleeping here," she announced, eyes riveted to the stain on the bed. There was an ache in her jaw and she rubbed it half-mindedly.

"I had no intention of doing so either. The night will be a clear one. I would rather sleep beneath the stars than in a place that echoes death."

She tore her eyes from their point of fixation, settling them on Lhean. What a very Eletian thing to say. He smiled grimly at her, guessing at her thoughts.

Karigan walked past him and to the stores, pulling out a fresh uniform that she immediately knew would hang on her smaller frame. It made no sense to keep oddities in size stocked for passers-through, and she had gotten used to this as a rule. Instead, she was grateful for the prospect of clothing that wasn't smattered with all sorts of ungodly substances. As she pulled out a pair of socks, a sewing kit fell out of the shelf. Lhean bent to retrieve it, as the Rider's arms were full.

"This will prove useful," he hummed to himself, raising his eyes to her face in correlation with the statement. He was looking at her lower lip. She reached up to touch it but her fingertips flew away as the merest brush incited pain that crackled through her head like lightning. Lhean gestured to the door of the armoire and she followed it, only then noticing the mirror hanging there. Her lip was grotesquely cloven vertically in two, a black scab only partially obscuring the white of her lower teeth. She gasped, for the injury did not stop there. The Groundmite's knuckles must have been spiked, as a shallow cut lashed straight up her cheek to her temple. Blood had trickled down to her jaw in lines. The skin that wasn't bloodied on that portion of her face was a lurid purple-brown bruise. She looked fearsome and wild. At length, she glanced aside and found Lhean's face over her shoulder in the mirror. He didn't appear to be bothered by her appearance.

"There is a brook behind the stables. It is not deep, nor is it very wide, but it will be serviceable in the task of bathing. As far as I can tell, the wards persist beyond the cabin a little ways into the woods."

She would have retorted _You could have just said, 'go bathe, it's safe and you reek'_, but her lip hurt, so she merely grunted and gathered a bundle of clothes in her good arm. As if in afterthought, she grabbed a cake of soap from the cabinet before leaving.

Karigan wasn't gone for long. The night was cold for midsummer and the creek proved icy as she scrubbed herself hurriedly. The soap she had taken smelled wonderful, like bayberry and sprigs of mint. She felt almost civilized as she trudged back to the cabin in her clean, albeit stiff attire. Her hair was in a damp tangle over her shoulders and she tasted fresh blood in her mouth.

Lhean looked up from a modest fire he'd lit within the hearth. Karigan curiously did not find a flint or kindling, but did not press the matter. For all she cared, he could be part dragon and _breathe _fire; her attention was instead fixed on what occupied his hands. He had been heating the needle in a tongue of flame. She swallowed hard, inadvertently cupping her mouth with her good hand.

"You Riders are certainly prepared for any occasion," he said, producing a flask. By the design, she deigned it filled with liquor, and he held it aloft for her to take. She did… reluctantly. "It will sanitize the wound."

Karigan could take a hint. She unscrewed the top and put it to her lips, taking a deep breath before tipping the liquid into her mouth. It burned, as predicted, but she let it wash over the open wound. Even after it was saturated, she took a couple of overlarge gulps to dim her awareness of that hot needle the Eletian was holding. She set down the flask, sputtering. It felt like she had swallowed fire.

Lhean laughed, a silvery sound, and she looked up indignantly.

"After all the pains you have weathered, you are afraid of a needle," he teased. He motioned her closer. She noticed now that a wisp of thread hung from the eye, knotted neatly at the end. Karigan couldn't help but wonder how many times Lhean had sewn up a wound. Did he have a hand for it? Was he a mender?

She slid into a chair he had pulled out for her, raising her head to the firelight as he sank to one knee to accommodate their difference in height. Something seemed different about her Eletian companion. It had lurked in the corner of his eyes since she had gotten wounded in his defense. Perhaps a newfound sense of loyalty? Camaraderie? Whatever icy construct he'd built around him was showing signs of melting. She blinked the thought out of her head, which was easy to do as the needle drew closer. Her eyes nearly crossed as she watched its approach.

He gently tilted her jaw, locking eyes momentarily. Hers were a blue redolent of summer, but his… his were akin to a blue-gray winter sky flecked with falling snow. She almost felt the sharp bite of cold as she stared into them. "Close your eyes and be still," he ordered. He had said it so softly that it sounded like a suggestion. His tone stirred something in Karigan, something that readily responded to tenderness. She attributed it to the liquor smoldering in her core, for her flesh already heated with drink, her face flushed at the cheeks.

She did as she was told, her mind far away from that needle. Maybe, she would think later, that had been his intention.

Lhean angled the needle at the bottom of the cut, knowing that the most sensitive area would be her lips, for the connective tissue and muscle that allowed one to smile had been severed. It was likely that he could repair it with a few simple stitches, but there was a chance that she may never regain her ability to smile genuinely without it appearing a touch off-color. He clenched his jaw in concentration, sliding the needle into her flesh with a firm, swift stroke and bringing the needle back to thread through the knot he had made. She stiffened, a sharp cry rising in her throat.

"You are doing well," he reassured her, "Think about home."

It occurred to him that he knew little about her home even as he completed another stitch. She had never mentioned any friends or family that might be waiting for her, though he had heard enough about her involvement with the King to be sure that she was eager to return. This involvement made Karigan a person of interest to the Eletian endeavor, for if they allied with one close to the King, they could consider themselves in good favor with the human realms. As with all things, however, there was a delicate balance and Lhean, young and inexperienced as he was in the methods of diplomacy (or trickery, as he had told Graelaela it was, once) he was unsure how to go about his task. He assumed that as time drew on, it would become clear how he must handle the situation. For now, he was focusing on surviving and maintaining a communicative pathway between himself and the Rider. After she had risked her life in saving his own, he found himself more open to such a thing- he may have even desired it.

He ran the needle through once more, a neat row of stitches in its wake. The thread was green, which he found rather amusing, but that was the only color in the sewing kit. Looking at her uniform, he couldn't imagine that they would need another for simple mending anyway.

He tied off the thread and cut it short, releasing his hold on the Rider. When she next opened her eyes, he had already tucked the needle and thread back into its pouch. She reached up to touch the stitches, but Lhean stopped her with a look. She lowered her hand with the petulance of a stubborn child, a crease apparent between her brows.

"If you want it to get infected, go ahead. We have no salve," he said mock-invitingly, raising to his feet. He nudged open the armoire in passing so that she could get a glimpse of his handiwork in the mirror. She stared at it for a moment, then followed him with her eyes. He was sorting something on the small desk in the corner. She craned her neck to get a better look.

"I've fashioned a splint for your wrist," he called over one shoulder, then turned back to her. He held a rolled bandage and the metal lining to a leather sheath that he had disassembled for one such purpose. He'd bent the thick wire in two places so that it formed a sturdy brace.

"That looks painful," she murmured, but it was difficult to do without moving her lips. She hissed as the motion pulled her stitches.

"You probably should not talk," he reprimanded gently.

"Does that mean you're going to talk more?" she asked. Again, pain shot through her face.

He cocked his head, brow furrowed. "Will it get you to be silent?"

She nodded and he got to work setting her wrist. That part was surprisingly painless compared to fitting the brace and bandaging it stiffly to prevent excess movement. It made her gasp several times, her head swimming in pain. She could have sworn she felt all of her blood draining down to pool in her feet, for her face grew white as snow. He saw her open her mouth in his peripherals.

Quickly, Lhean raised his head, stating quite seriously, "I may just break your wrist again if you say anything."

That made her clamp her lips shut. He laughed merrily, having completed his task from start to finish without the Rider protesting in the least. It was quite the accomplishment. The movement of his head allowed Karigan to catch a flash of scarlet against his neck. Before he could correct his posture, she shot her good hand out and turned his head forcibly aside by a silky clump of hair. He knew well enough to not resist, indulging the Rider's sudden fancy with the patience of a brooding feline. Two shallow indentations spaced like the claws of an index and middle digit had nicked his neck just beneath the jawline.

"You're hurt!" she exclaimed. "Five hells, ow,**_ ow_**." That last part was barely discernible, as she kept her mouth straight and branched off into a stream of curses.

"I will survive," he said with a weary sigh. He had bathed and tended to his own wounds while she had been maintaining the dead Rider's horse. If she caught a blossom of blood on his neck, it would be because they had opened up again. Small as they were, it was nothing but a nuisance, but she was locked on them. It was almost endearing for her to show such passion- annoying as it was- and concern in his well-being. He mustered his most heartening smile and pried her hand from his hair.

"We should rest. The road is long."

She nodded in silent agreement, raising from the chair as he doused the hearth. They exited the cabin with a bundle of blankets, each taking one and settling in for the night beneath a clear, starlit sky.

_Author's Note: This chapter was pretty challenging. I hope you enjoy! Welcome to the beginnings of an alliance between the Humans and Eletians._


	6. Chapter 6

Lhean stirred in the balmy hours preceding dawn, finding sleep to be an elusive pursuit. He struggled to grasp it for a while before finally relenting to wakefulness. Moonlight dappled the carpet of moss surrounding him, luminescent and forming a shifting pattern of leaves as it filtered through the boughs overhead. Shreds of a dream still drifted through his mind, playing on the back of his eyelids as he rested them closed. Tall, slender birches rose in the peripherals of his mind's eye- reflected and rippling as if refracted in a lake, played with a gentle breeze. Though it was a forest, the colors were tranquil and muted: deep violets and indigos set against silver and mossy teal. The vision swept as his eyes rolled behind his lids. He touched his forehead, discovering a film of cool sweat.

The vision deepened, his body slackening as his consciousness began to fade. He had been staring into a lake, for as he looked down, his own reflection tipped into view. He wore pearlescent armor ribbed up the shoulders with quills and his hair was askew about his shoulders, clumped with red and clinging bits of gore. His face was drawn and smudged with blood, dark rings set beneath his eyes and two long gashes on one temple. His reflection spared him only a moment's glance before swishing away with a billow of his cloak. On all sides, there were Eletians, some standing in a daze, some hunched over and tending to the wounded and the dead. It seemed he stood in the wake of some great conflict. He barked an order to someone nearby, but could not hear what he said. The word felt foreign on his tongue, but he did not stop to consider it. His eyes scanned the wounded, skipping over the uniforms of Sacoridian soldiers.

They paused when roving over one nearby figure, recognizing Rider green. His heart felt as if it would fracture his armor in its frantic pulse, and he edged through the crowd to move towards the Rider. He knew the name his lips were forming, and he knew it well. His tone surprised him, though he heard nothing, he felt the strain in his throat and the sting in his eyes. A familiar feeling. Could he bear another such loss?

And that was where the dream tore away from him, thrusting him back into the present, where daylight was beginning to overtake the darkness. He set himself about to tasks of preparation for the road ahead, refusing to bring his eyes in the direction of the sleeping Rider.

Karigan woke later to snorts and whickers of irritation. She sat bolt upright, looking about for the source only to find Lhean tacking the deceased Rider's gelding. Finch was none too happy about being led away from the waystation, tossing his head and hoofing the damp earth to voice his displeasure. He danced away from Lhean's patient hands, but the Eletian was persistent, catching the horse's bridle and guiding its large head towards him. Karigan could only _just_ hear Lhean's gentle murmurings and the language was foreign and fluid to her ears. He stroked one long hand down Finch's velvet nose, the other threading in his mane. Finch nosed closer, his neck bending as he leaned in to soothing ministrations. Karigan could liken it to an embrace of grief and responsive comfort. She mutely watched, her stare drawn from the horse to Lhean. The morning light glanced off of his pale hair, the rays bending about his form like a halo.

She was so thoroughly enchanted by the sight that she found herself incapable of moving her gaze away. That realization made gave her pause, and then she delved for the reason behind it. Was it because of the simple fact that all Eletians begged to be gaped at, with their quiet ethereality and economy of movement- that grace that pervaded even the most mundane of motions- or was it something more? He had proven a stalwart companion. He was strong and reliable, if a touch removed, but Karigan had felt that careful distance eroding with the passing days. Finch whickered softly.

"Ila dorm'era aluvienthel."

_She rests eternal, _some small voice within Karigan translated. She shook her head in disbelief. That hadn't been the first time she had understood an Eletian's native tongue- the first had been in Blackveil, outside of an abandoned grove. The grove that had taken Hana… the grove where Yates lost his sight…

The memory lodged a knot in her throat and she cleared it, unintentionally attracting the gaze of the Eletian. He didn't appear to be caught by surprise, though there was a fleeting edge of mischief in his features that might have been lit in response to Karigan's unabashed stare. She did not allow the contact of their eyes to falter, but raised to her feet, bringing her wrist in its splint to her chest for balance. "You could have asked for my help," she murmured, remembering to keep her lower lip still when she spoke. Speech put pressure on her stitches and made her wince.

Lhean merely gazed at her, causing Karigan to shift her weight on her feet uneasily as silence stretched the moment thin. Finally, he said, "I did not want to wake you because of my own restlessness. Besides, I have some skill with horses."

Karigan scrunched an eyebrow at him, and then at the horse who lipped at his shining hair, "I can see that."

"Not so much a finch as a magpie," the Eletian laughed, shoving Finch's nose away playfully. The horse whickered in response, tail swishing and trotting to one side to avoid another shove.

Karigan remained silent until Lhean turned to her, dismissing the curious horse for the moment. "How is your wrist? And your lip?"

Before she could answer him, he'd stepped towards her and cupped her chin in his palm, raising her face to study the wound's progress. His eyes, sharp and cool, focused clinically on the stitches and the mending flesh around them, but this proximity left Karigan in an awkward situation. What was one to do except sit still? She swallowed nervously, fighting to keep her glance over his shoulder, but they kept gravitating towards his eyes. He seemed satisfied with the rate at which she was healing and met her glance, imparting a brief flash of a smile before releasing her and turning away. What was that she detected in his expression as he moved?

She puzzled over it until he completed his task of securing a bedroll to Finch's saddle. The twain set out from the way station by the time the sun crested on the horizon. This seemed to please Lhean, who said that their travel would be easy in such weather.

As the waystation faded into the forest, Karigan noticed their surroundings began to thin, eventually tapering off into saplings and bramble. By the afternoon, even that had dissipated, overtaken by grass and clearly discernable pathways. They chose one that was overgrown in parts due to little use, but Karigan deigned that it led almost directly to Sacor City, for these small, winding roads almost always intersected with the Kingway. The town of Childrey could not be far ahead, and after that, it would be two days' unmounted travel to the capital. Their travel was light, both herself and Lhean on foot and Finch following with the burden of a few provisions taken from the way station. They chatted idly, but mostly were silent due to Lhean's observant nature and her own injury. She could tell that he was drinking in his surroundings and committing them to memory, turning his head this way and that to study a mile marker or dilapidated sign.

"You should not do that," Lhean said suddenly.

Karigan, who had been picking at her stitches thoughtfully, froze, then dropped her hand with a sigh. "Can't get anything past you."

He laughed, "Indeed not."

She tapped a finger to her chin instead. "Is your land as beautiful as ours?" she asked offhandedly. The hues of the rapidly expiring summer truly were breathtaking, particularly when looking over her shoulder at the Green Cloak, which was dotted with pale gold and a few flecks of fiery orange. The fields that stretched to either side of them were golden as well, signifying the beginning of the harvest. They must have been traversing a farmer's fields, for their forward view was a sea of wheat wavering in the breeze.

He cocked his head at her. "I happen to think so. Perhaps you will one day see for yourself, and not just a glimpse this time."

Karigan detected a touch of prophecy in his words, but he smiled secretively and turned his eyes away, taking their riddles with them. That strange flit of emotion she'd puzzled after that morning remained hidden in the crease of his brow.

"It will never compare to that which is lost," he added, not quite in afterthought.

"With time-" Karigan began, but he was already shaking his head.

"The corruption runs too deep. Truly, the blackness may bleed from the land, but we will always feel it. Like a scar, we will remember." Lhean had never seen Argenthyne as it once was. He had only heard the songs and recollections of his people that recanted its beauty and purity.

"Does that mean that you will never go back?" Karigan asked, her voice quiet.

He peered sidelong at her, raising one brow, "You are speaking of a time that even your distant successors will not live to see. The mending may outlive the entirety of your race."

Karigan sucked in a breath. He hadn't meant to sound patronizing, but somehow that had been accomplished. "Lhean, it may even outlive your own."

Grimly, he nodded in agreement. He was aware that his people were fading, for they flourished in the presence of _etherea_, and the land and its people had shunned it. With the exception, of course, of the Green Riders- the last remaining vestiges of mortals that could once wield it with great skill. Not for the first time, Lhean's thoughts slipped to Karigan's abilities and he fell entirely silent, taking on a guise of icy detachment. Her brooch glittered in his peripherals and Lhean recalled his task. Somehow, the remembrance of his duties felt different today. Instead of experiencing a notion of diplomacy, Lhean felt deceptive and as if he were taking advantage of his proximity to the Rider. He was exploiting her trust. He was almost positive that she would agree to be the link that forged a bond between their people should he simply ask, but it had been commanded that he not reveal his agenda until it was closer to fruition. He had been told that there was too much at stake.

"Tell me, Rider, your opinion of my people," he requested. His voice was soft.

Karigan scrunched her brow at being addressed in such a formal manner. "Well, _Eletian_," she emphasized, "I think that you are, as a whole, an enigmatic and xenophobic bunch that can't be bothered to involve yourselves in the trials of others."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand, squinting as a shock of pain needled through her lip.

"Unless I am present," she finished.

"A keen observation, but if I remember correctly, we rescued your Captain from a certain mauling by Groundmites."

"She is a Green Rider," Karigan responded. "She and I are one in duty." Lhean looked at the sky, thoroughly befuddled by the Rider's perceptiveness.

"Do you not think it could be for the fact that you are the eyes, ears, and voice of your King?"

She was watching him knowingly from beneath her lashes, "I suspect there is more to it than that."

Lhean neither confirmed nor denied that suspicion, but merely turned his attention elsewhere. The horizon was dotted with buildings. Karigan followed his gaze, then angled her body in his direction and stopped. He caught on shortly after and lingered to say, "Surely you are not considering…"

"And why not? This close to Sacor City, I could probably manage free lodging for the both of us." She tugged pointedly at her greatcoat. "Would you not like to sleep in a bed?"

There was a tight frown apparent on his lips.

"You must understand my reluctance," he said at length, not quite ending the sentence, but leaving it hovering in the air between them. Karigan could easily fill in the gaps to create a long list of reasons why he would rather not stay the night in mortal domain. Hardly anyone had ever crossed paths with an Eletian, especially not the simple folk that tended fields and raised livestock, removed from the court and all of its foreign delegations. They would probably make a grand spectacle of his arrival.

"Do you suggest, then, that we travel through the night?" she asked. As they stood there, wills contesting, the wind picked up and whipped a long tress from her braid. The sunlight backlit her hair, wreathing its mahogany coloration in flame.

"No," he answered. She waited for him to further expound, but he did not.

"Then what would you have me do? Make a camp within walking distance of Childrey?"

He raised a brow at the obstinate tone issuing out of this slip of a woman. "I am not keeping you from lodging there for the night, I only ask that you do not try to convince me to go as well."

"Fair enough," she said, rather stiffly. "Then I will meet you back here at first light?"

He canted his head, "Perhaps before then, if you can manage. We have enough ground to cover as it is."

"I can manage," was her only response, and she trudged off in the direction of the town. He watched her go, sensing a change in the direction of the wind. The field of wheat churned around her waist and the gale ripped her hair free of its braid, tousling it in a dark storm about her shoulders.

Lhean's sleep was dreamless and velvet-dark that night.

"Hells," Karigan cursed. She scrubbed a cloth furiously over a spot of blackberry jam on the lapel of her uniform. She had removed much of it, but a dark splotch remained. She hoped, mostly in vain, that it was simply wet and would lighten as it dried, and applied the preserve more carefully to her next biscuit, fighting to keep her eyes open. She had not slept well; her dreams had been brimming with doubt and peril, strange images of familiar faces sprouting from roots deep within her memory. Her mother had been among them, along with Laurelyn, infused with light and outstretching a hand towards her. Lhean stood off to the side, decorated with spiked armor much like that Telagioth wore. His presence lent her silent strength through blurred scenes of conflict in which Kariny and Laurelyn were absent. At one point, he swept his sword over her head and parried a blow that would have cloven her skull in two, but they were parted by more soldiers- some Eletian, some human- but all fought the same enemies: Groundmites and Arcosians. She did not notice the absence of King Zachary from each setting that flashed before her eyes.

Much of the dream fell away from her recollection upon collision with the light of dawn, but she became keenly aware of Lhean's absence and hurried to finish her breakfast. It was a sloppy task, her eyes shutting of their own accord while she ate, resulting in the rather embarrassing stain. She was a Green Rider, a servant of the King and an accomplished fighter- not a toddler who could not spread jam on a biscuit. She thrust a few more into a cloth and folded it into her pack for Lhean, only barely listening to the conversation buzzing around her. One voice in particular, however, slowed her movement and captured her attention.

"_Queen_ Estora," a man corrected a barmaid. Karigan hadn't heard what they were talking about previously, so she stopped to listen.

"Fine," the matronly woman said, balancing a tray in one hand and placing the other firmly on her hip. "Don't compare me to _Queen_ Estora. Just makes you sound like a suck-up."

"Queen?" Karigan asked. She hadn't been able to prevent the choked question from leaping out of her mouth. The patrons surrounding her began to stare, but the barmaid merely looked over one shoulder. "They have married?"

"Greenie, ain't it your job to be informed of such things? Said their vows on his deathbed, they did."

"Deathbed?" Karigan's voice sounded strangled and she felt her heart drop into her boots.

The barmaid laughed, "Easy. He lives yet, Rider. Where've you been to miss such news?"

Karigan did not have the presence of mind to answer. She ran for the door and sprinted out of town as quickly as her legs would carry her, bracing herself against the chill in the air. Her lungs burned and her knees were starting to buckle by the time she reached Lhean. Her face was a shade of scarlet. The Eletian leapt to his feet, alarmed by the sight.

"Karigan! What happened?"

She gulped for air, managing between gasps, "He's married. Zachary. He married Estora. He's been hurt." Arrows flashed through her mind and she squinted her eyes shut. Her legs felt like they were on fire and her lungs ached for oxygen. The wind had stung her cheeks, which she subsequently realized were wet. She scrubbed her sleeve against them.

Lhean was standing very still at her side. As she composed herself and her pants became more shallow, he began to speak quietly. "Did you not expect this? They were engaged to be wed even upon your departure, were they not?"

She ran a hand back through her hair, braiding it with shaking hands. "I don't know," she answered, "I didn't- it was so soon… and while I was in _Blackveil_, of all places." She felt a tongue of anger writhe in her gut. They had waited until she had her back turned. She may have died in Blackveil, either by peril of the forest itself or by the hand of Estora's woodsman. _Zachary_, she thought, _is a coward_. Immediately, she felt nauseated by the malice in that inner voice and turned her face away from Lhean so he could not see her expression. She felt betrayed. Worthless. Used. And now she wanted to lash out in anger. It came toppling down all at once, and she recalled the fever-dream of Zachary and his new bride Estora with her golden hair curled beneath a shining crown, dancing amongst a sea of masks. A warm hand settled on her back and she folded herself into the crook of the arm attached to it, and the chest beyond that. Another arm encircled her and she pressed her forehead into the Eletian's armor.

"Karigan."

She became dimly aware of sunlight dotting her vision, then jerked away from Lhean's embrace. How long had they been standing there, clasped together while she sobbed? A minute? An hour? She peered up at him, startled at the sorrow on his face.

"I understand," he said before she could stutter an excuse.

"How?" she demanded. It was childish, but Karigan felt justified. She'd just had her heart ripped from her body and put on display and now she felt angry that the Eletian would sully her feelings by offering a comparison.

His face contorted and he managed, "Hana."

"I-" Karigan began, but he shook his head sharply, once. She wanted to apologize, for her situation seemed trivial compared to the gruesome way that Hana had been ripped from Lhean's life. At the very least, Karigan could be angry at Zachary to lessen the pain, but Lhean? He had carried Hana's death with him with quiet dignity through the darkness and trials of Blackveil, holding it inside…

"Please," he said. A shudder in his voice forbade her from saying anything more. She wrapped her arms around him, and he her, and they stood that way for quite some time, each drawing strength from the other. The raw memory brought fresh pain to the forefront of Lhean's mind, and coupled with his vision of Karigan, he allowed himself the moment to hold the Rider close. He knew then that his mission was in jeopardy.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for your kind words of encouragement. I've had writer's block for a while, but I think I'm finally overcoming it. I hope you all like the direction in which I am taking this story. Hang tight, things are about to pick up a bit._

A small fire crackled between Karigan and Lhean. By the orange light, she ran a comb through her hair in short strokes and he looked on silently. His head was canted to a minute degree and he seemed to be listening to a distant conversation, though there wasn't one that Karigan could discern. She set down her comb, hair now neatly smoothed down her back. Normally, she parted it in such a way that the remnants of an old wound were obscured by its fall, but without the aid of a mirror, a wisp of baby blonde hair hung over the rest. She absently rubbed at the scar on her scalp. Her courtship of death seemed to be a recurring theme in her thoughts tonight.

The night was overcast and cool, granting them only the brief intermittence of starlight and weary rays of a spent moon. Karigan gathered her greatcoat more firmly about herself and finally leveled her eyes at Lhean. He wasn't looking at her; rather, he craned his neck to the road behind them. He looked like a misplaced seraph in the forefront of familiar, spanning fields and worn thoroughfare.

"I will take first watch," Karigan volunteered, if only to put a rift in his silence.

Her voice started Lhean. He jerked back to life, flicking his gaze to her. "No need. There are none that would do us harm here. Even if there were, they would not accomplish much. There are others who walk the night that would take up arms against them."

She squinted. "What do you mean?"

Then she felt it. That soundless rhythm, that gentle vibration indicative of Eletian presence. He smiled at her. "It seems we are not the only ones that seek audience of the King." He turned his head back to its former position, then murmured, "Curious."

"What do they want?"

Lhean stood slowly, cautiously, "You may ask them yourself. They are heading in our direction."

With the stirring wind, Karigan could have sworn she heard snatches of speech, though it was in their strange, beautiful language. She stood, straining her ears for understanding.

_We do not know. He did not say._

_Many paths…_

_Dangerous. _

Out of the darkness emerged two Eletians, devoid of armor and dressed in dove gray and dusky beige. One was female and raven-haired with an expression like the depths of winter. Her eyes lighted on Karigan before sliding to Lhean. Only then did she smile, but it was sharp and mirthless. The male astride her had been studying Karigan for the entirety of that long moment, his own features devoid of any ripple that might betray the thought behind them. He was easily the largest Eletian Karigan had ever seen. His broad shoulders and pawlike hands reminded her of a bear, while the fleeter woman's golden eyes were reminiscent of a wolf's. Karigan wondered if it was the night and her own apprehension that drew the parallel between these Eletians and predatory animals, or if it was something else entirely.

She spoke first. "Hello," she greeted them.

The female ignored her, speaking to Lhean in a hushed, rapid tone. Despite Karigan's best effort to translate, the only word she definitely understood was _peril. _Lhean looked in her direction, though not intently at her, and made a gesture of disbelief before issuing what sounded like a reprimand to the female Eletian.

The woman drew back, anger flashing over her features. "Tous _delore_ innorus'ila!"

Lhean did meet Karigan's gaze, then, and she was taken aback by the confusion in his eyes. His glance fell away, burdened with thought, and he stepped forward to guide the female Eletian further off by a hand on the shoulder. They walked a little ways before engaging in a conversation that the bearlike Eletian tried to distract Karigan from.

"You knew my sister," he said haltingly. His accent was thick.

Karigan tilted her head in question but did not talk. She was trying to listen to the conversation taking place several yards away.

"Hana."

That _did _distract her. "I am so sorry for your loss." Looking up at him, she could now see the resemblance. His coloration was identical to the deceased Eletian's, his nose long and straight and eyes wide and round like an owl's. "She was a faithful companion."

This visibly pleased Bear, as Karigan named him. He granted her a genuine smile, though his eyes were sorrowful. "She was a healer. One of our last."

She blinked. Why was he sharing this information with her? She was not sure if the weight on her heart was sympathetic, or if it was because she, too, was truly saddened by the signs that signaled the end of Eletian influence. It felt like a part of their world was diminishing, scattered to the wind, and a new, strange era was taking root.

Before she could puzzle over it further, Lhean and the dark-haired woman approached. He appeared troubled and would not glance in her direction. He stood next to Bear while Wolf, the female, paced- or stalked, Karigan thought. She could take no more silence. "Please explain to me what is happening."

"We require something of you, Rider," Wolf said. She paused, folding her hands behind her back. "You have sacrificed a great deal for our people, but there is still much to be done."

"This is not just your war," Karigan reminded her. "Mornhavon is a common enemy and my loyalty is first committed to my King."

Wolf raised her eyebrows. "Your race is shortsighted. They take a path befitting their generation, not their future. Would you not rather align yourself with a cause that encompasses not only your life, but the lives of your children… your grandchildren…"

"Dare you question the wisdom of the King who governs the land on which you stand?" Karigan asked heatedly. "I am a Green Rider. I say again, my loyalty lies with my King and country."

"Karigan," Lhean interjected. Her temper dropped a degree. "She is not asking that you abandon your King, but merely consider what may benefit all the inhabitants of this continent. Mortals and Eletians stood together once, but now suspicion and even hatred has created a divide that may prevent such an alliance from forming again."

She drew a breath deep into her lungs. The cool night air extinguished much of the fire in her veins. "I think that my King has proven his willingness to fight alongside your people by assigning the contingent to Blackveil. Do not forget what we have done for you."

Here, Bear spoke, concentrating hard to form the syllables of Karigan's own language. "It was not your King that… woke the sleeping… and led them to safety. It was you."

That explanation gave Karigan pause. It was true. She had played the role of an ambassador of sorts, but she could not go so far as to claim that she deserved the recognition of saving the Sleepers. Laurelyn had guided her step. She had never been alone. That made her ask, "Why me?"

Wolf lowered her head pointedly at Karigan's chest, seemingly diverting from the question that had just been asked, "May I see your brooch?"

Karigan's hand fell to it and she frowned, remembering the exclusivity of which the brooch revealed itself. She had been told that only Riders could see its true form. In all other eyes, it looked like a cheap ornament. "What would you want with a piece of costume jewelry?"

The female Eletian raised her brow knowingly, a trace of humor in her eyes. "Do not mistake me for a fool, Galadheon. You have my word that I will return it to you promptly and undamaged."

Karigan slid out the pin that held the brooch in place and lifted it off of her uniform, reluctantly pressing it into Wolf's palm. The Eletian responded with a sound pleasant surprise as the touch of magic rippled through her body. The confirmation of ethereal presence did not answer all of their questions, however; she raised her eyes to Karigan and ordered in an even tone, "Reach for your ability."

Karigan outstretched her hand to take the brooch back, thinking that was what Wolf had intended, but it was jerked away. "No. Reach _within_."

"Within?" Karigan asked, thoroughly confused. She looked to Lhean, who watched intensely. He nodded his encouragement.

Karigan returned her hand to her side, a crease appearing between her brows. "I don't think that's-"

"You must try," Lhean urged.

She glanced between all three Eletians, finding a mixture of anticipation and apprehension hovering in each expression. She sighed, and closed her eyes. Her hand sought out her brooch in force of habit, her fingertips hovering on the pinched fabric where it had been but moments ago. At first, she felt nothing but the scrutiny of the Eletians. She did not want to crush what hopes they might have of individual mortal mastery of the ethereal without augmentation, and that made her thoughts straddle what she was attempting to do, and what their expectations might be.

Lhean approached her. "Do not think about anything else," he murmured. "Only your ability."

His tone was light and measured, the slight tinge of his native accent interwoven like a spice in his words. She listened to him as he continued.

_Focus on how it feels to call on it. How it responds to your commands. How it grows and overlaps and envelops. How it feels to- _By this point, Karigan felt the answer to her call. That elusive spark swelled into something tangible.

Karigan did not hear Bear's hushed exclamation as she began to fade, only Lhean's coaxing whisper. _Good. Now that you know it is there, that it responds to your words, bring it forth. Show us its extent. _

"Ai!" Wolf cried suddenly, throwing the brooch down to nurse her hand. Smoke curled from her palm.

Karigan was aware of very little except Lhean's presence at her side, but she was aware that she could no longer feel the fabric beneath her fingertips. She glanced at him, beaming, but he was staring straight through her, a look of elation on his face.

"So it is true. The brooches are merely inhibitors. _Ethera_ resides in the Riders." He reached out to touch her, but his hand passed straight through her shoulder. This only served to widen his grin. Indeed, the Eletians appeared more animated- even Wolf, who cradled her hand, bore a look of breathless joy. Karigan released her hold over it, and she winked back into visibility and corporeality. There was no residual headache as there was with her brooch, but instead of sharing in the Eletions' happiness at this discovery, she felt as if she had been deceived. She scooped up her brooch and replaced it on her uniform, though she did so with noted hesitation.

"What is the purpose of this, then? Are you saying that I have been capable of this all along?" she asked. Her cheeks were flushed, and the blush of anger was apparent on her throat as well.

Wolf regarded her, sobering, "Your race's suspicion of such power made them take steps to limit its prevalence in your society. Some individuals are naturally born with an affinity, a relationship, with etherea. It seems that the creation of these brooches was a ploy to weed out those with a gift and enlist them in direct service of the King- even to utilize and govern what they fear and do not understand. We have thought it to be so for a very long time, but you have confirmed our suspicions. Do not be disheartened, for there is also much hope in this discovery."

Karigan felt as if she had been physically struck. This was the second betrayal from her King that she had weathered this day. A small, sympathetic part of her wondered if Zachary had been aware of the corruption of the brooches- for the first Riders wore and wielded them during the Long War. There was no possible way they could have served the same purpose originally. She touched her brooch, and its usual humming response seemed more of a hiss. A nagging question pervaded her thoughts, and she began to question her station.

The Eletians were waiting patiently for her to say something, but when she finally did, it was addressed to Lhean. "We need to get moving. I will not be able to rest until we reach Sacor City."

She turned to look at Wolf and Bear, who bowed their heads in parting. As they had appeared, they ducked back into the night, and Karigan went to replace Finch's tack. They set out shortly thereafter and there were only a few words exchanged. Stormclouds roiled in Karigan's mind.

"What I do not understand is why we have such difficulty grasping our abilities in the absence of a brooch," she said sometime later when the blush of dawn lit the sky with rose and violet.

Lhean did not turn his head, but responded, "Would you believe that you could do anything if you were told it was impossible without aid? The brooches must respond to your commands to some degree, making your gifts more easily channeled, but ultimately handicap their potency. Perhaps it is a device like a blinder."

As accomplished of an equestrian that Karigan was, she could understand that analogy well. Lhean certainly understood what he was talking about, which brought another question to mind.

"What are your abilities?" she asked.

He did look at her now, even seeming amused: "I was wondering how long it would be before you would inquire about my own abilities. Seems like such a question would have been asked a long time ago."

"You didn't answer me," she said flatly. Now that she _had_ asked it, she didn't appreciate his attempt at diversion.

Lhean laughed, "That is because there is no simple answer. I am not limited to one ability, Karigan."

She stared at him. "Now you're talking in riddles."

He sighed, clearly expending a lot of effort trying to vocalize what he was thinking. "Etherea is not so simple with us. It is almost its own entity, manifesting where we would best use it. For example, if we are in need of a fire without kindling… or perhaps a foothold where there is not one. Even shelter from a storm or a break in a blizzard, it can provide. Occasionally, it will give us insight on the thoughts and dreams and futures of others, but that is generally a gift it has selected and kept exclusive for Prince Jametari. It is natural for us. It is, in a sense, our life force and birthright."

Karigan fell silent, digesting his words. Even as she thought, he began to speak again.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking that this is the only gift you possess. You are favored by greater forces." The last bit was nearly a whisper. Karigan rubbed at her temple. Since she had put her brooch back on, her head had begun to hurt and the pain had grown more severe over the passing hours. Now, it possessed the severity of a migraine, only just beginning to blur her vision. It came and went in waves, like an earthquake grinding faultlines in her skull together. She paused as a particularly violent throb locked up her movements, and Lhean glanced back at her sympathetically.

"It punishes you," he observed. Finch nibbled at the Eletian's hair to get his attention. "Perhaps you should ride a while."

Karigan could not argue. The throbbing in her head was growing closer together until the pain was near-continuous. She allowed him to help her into the saddle, not noticing the careful persistence of his hands as he placed her boots in the stirrup and then shifted her to secure her body on the saddle. He closed her fingers around Finch's reins while she watched through blurred sight.

"Thanks," she managed.

"Rest as well as you can. We will be in the capital by noon," he responded. She slumped against Finch's neck. Lhean began to run beside Finch, but their renewed pace escaped her notice. She lost consciousness shortly thereafter with only the Eletian to ensure she stayed seated in the saddle.


	8. Chapter 8

Karigan felt something tickle her face and turned her head so that the sensation subsided. Sleep clung to her like a wet cloak, but she became aware that her skull was no longer pulsing and that she lay stationary on her back. As she drifted towards consciousness, her tactile sense recalled a soft mattress beneath her and that she was cocooned in crisp, clean sheets that whispered as she stirred. Something tickled her nose again, and this time, Karigan reached up to push it away, her hand colliding with fur. Ghost Kitty let out an offended meow at being greeted thus, then sank the claws of one paw into her shoulder.

That pulled her upright with a startled gasp that unseated the cat and sent it skittering to the floor. It swished its tail indignantly in the doorway and pivoted to dart down the hall while Karigan studied her surroundings. She was back in her own room in the Rider wing and outfitted in a sleeping gown to which her brooch was pinned. Another flashed in her peripherals and she turned her head to find Captain Mapstone sprawled out on a chair at her bedside, head resting on her fist. She was sound asleep, but had to have come in recently because there was a tray piled high with breakfast items on a shallow table at her side and little curls of steam rose from it, pronouncing it fresh and hot.

Karigan's stomach grumbled in response to the smell of cream-drenched oats and honey and she then decided that everything else- Lhean, Captain Mapstone, even the King- would have to wait. She sat on the bed and pulled the tray into her lap and began to eat quickly, though the hot oats seared a path down her throat. She was halfway through with the bowl before a knock sounded at the door. Captain Mapstone sat stark upright, and Karigan called with her mouth half full, "Come in."

The door swung open to admit a rather pale-looking Cummings. He clasped his hands behind his back and averted his eyes from the sight of the Rider in her nightgown. "The King requests you come speak to him."

"Cummings," Mapstone snapped, "Does she look suitable for the King's audience to you?"

Cummings fell silent and ducked out of the doorway, leaving Captain Mapstone and Karigan in peace. She looked to Laren, then swallowed her mouthful before smiling half-heartedly. At the very least, Captain Mapstone had not changed. She stood from her chair and brushed the wrinkles out of her uniform, allowing Karigan to finish another bite before speaking: "I'll be waiting for you in my office. We have a lot to talk about, and you aren't ready to see the King. Not until after we speak."

"Where's Lhean?" Karigan asked, setting down the tray. Much of her hunger had dissipated with the reminder of her duties.

Laren traversed the room and stood in the doorway, granting Karigan a backward look over one shoulder. "He is in council with King Zachary. These past few days have been… interesting."

"Days?" she asked, rubbing one eye with her good hand. No trace of the debilitating headache remained, but its memory made her brush her fingers over the brooch pinned to her nightgown. Unprompted, her eyes fell to the Captain's brooch and she found herself wondering to what extent she would be able to use her ability should she remove it.

"I will explain when you come to my office," she said quickly, then rounded the doorway and shut it behind her. Karigan scrambled out of bed immediately and threw open the doors to her wardrobe, pulling out a fresh uniform.

She managed a few more spoonfuls of breakfast between shrugging on various articles of clothing and finally ran a brush through her hair in short, rough strokes. She avoided her reflection in the mirror as she did so. Even in her peripherals, she was aware of the lurid bruise that pooled on her forehead and dipped down into her eye socket, bleeding out from the lashes marked up the side of her face. The wound on her lower lip looked like a simple red and black streak.

She knotted her hair quickly in a braid and polished off a piece of toast, washing it down with a gulp of tea, then jogged out of her room.

The halls to the Rider wing were quiet- almost eerily so, Karigan thought, turning her head to watch the passage of a Green Foot. Her steps hastened in the direction of Captain Mapstone's office, but she found her path suddenly obstructed by a wall of meat in Rider green.

"Garth!" she cried. The wall of meat became mobile, passing a hand over his eyes.

"Gods, Karigan, we all thought you were dead," he said, not even finished with his sentence before he scooped her up in a great hug. "Ever since Lynx came back alone, and-"

Karigan pushed out of his arms, looking at him sidelong. "Alone? What? Where's Yates?"

Garth realized his blunder immediately and sought to amend it, but she had already caught on to the edge in his voice that pronounced tragedy. She stepped forward, and Garth was forced to relinquish ground to the much smaller woman.

"Is he still missing? Where is Lynx? I want to speak with Lynx."

He shuffled uncomfortably, glance darting aside. "Have you spoken with the Captain yet?"

Karigan stared at him agape. Her lips moved with unvoiced, stuttered words before she growled, then whirled on her heel to resume her errand. Garth followed in her wake, silent and tense, and when they reached their destination, edged in the doorway of the office behind her.

"What happened to Yates?" she demanded. Her face was flushed, her breathing rapid and shallow, but it wasn't from the run.

Captain Mapstone looked up from a ledger and thought for a moment before setting down her quill and leaning back in her chair. "He is buried on the Wanda Plains." She threaded her fingers together, bringing them to rest beneath her chin.

Karigan's eyes instantly filled with tears. Both the Captain and Garth expected her to say something, but she pressed her lips together and looked down on the desk at her hands, then squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the dull thud of her heart against her ribcage, and that unmistakable, twisting ache of loss. It stole her breath. Her face contorted and she clutched at her chest, letting loose a low whimper as her composure began to fissure.

"It was my fault," she said at length, remembering the mask. Her hands uncurled and she raised them palm-up, as if remembering how it felt. As if, somehow, doing so would cause it to materialize so that she might turn back time. So that she might save the life of her fellow Rider… "It's my fault," she repeated, her voice shrill and cracking. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks and runneled off her chin. "I shouldn't have broken th-"

"Lynx was with him when he passed, Karigan. Yates told him to give you the message that it was not your fault." It was Garth that had spoken, and he clamped a large hand on her shoulder reassuringly while Captain Mapstone stared, unfocused, at the other end of the room.

Karigan finally jerked from her frozen stance, "I want to see Lynx."

"He is on an errand," Captain Mapstone said simply. "It has been a time of great sadness for us all, but your return breathes some hope into our task."

"What do you mean, 'our task'? Everything has become so cryptic."

"Facing Mornhavon," the Captain clarified. "We thought we had more time. He could not have chosen a more critical hour for his return." She began to recant the events that had passed while Karigan was absent, watching her face for any ripple of emotion as she mentioned the King's marriage. Surprisingly, it remained largely unperturbed, the feeling of betrayal only revealed in a slight downturn at the corners of her mouth. Her anguish at Yates' loss was overshadowed by the urgency wrought by Mornhavon; though she would not forget her friend's demise, she must maintain a clear head. It was crucial. She swallowed the knot in her throat, bidding the Captain continue. She told Karigan of Lynx's reappearance, of the exact tidings of Yates' passing, and of the individual Rider errands since. It seemed that King Zachary was alerting the separate militias of all provinces, for all of the Riders mentioned had been previously sent to or were currently in a remote area. It made Karigan uneasy, for many of the seasoned Riders had been elected to mentor younger pupils on their errands. Newer Riders…

The three Riders sat in grave silence for a long while after their discussion had dwindled, memory heavy between them. Karigan's head spun with a torrent of emotions, and though she'd only just awoken, it made her weary. If she wasn't facing such a chaotic day, she would be ready to resign herself to her cot.

"When I was in the Green Cloak, at a way station," Karigan began, thrusting a strand of hair behind her ear. "I came across a young Rider… I'd never seen her before."

Laren nodded. "You brought her horse back. Her name was Arileigh Lovell."

"Arileigh," Karigan repeated. She crossed her arms over her chest, lowering her head.

Captain Mapstone laughed suddenly, which made Karigan and Garth look up in unison. Such a sound didn't seem appropriate in conjunction with this conversation.

"Finch is some horse," she said. "He won't part with the Eletian."

"Perhaps he is of Eletian stock," Karigan said.

"Perhaps," Laren agreed, running a finger down the long scar at her neck. "It seems the Eletian has also taken a shining to you, Karigan. If it weren't for the menders, he'd have been tending to you himself."

Karigan sighed, remembering the events that had transpired that night in the fields between herself and the three Eletians. It was possible that Lhean's interest had something to do with her newfound abilities. Her eyes lingered on the Captain's brooch and for a moment, she considered sharing the tale, but the enormity of loss and present peril made such a thing seem trivial. She rubbed a temple with the ball of her hand, "We have put aside our differences."

Captain Mapstone toyed with a paperweight, tilting her head. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"He and I understand one another. He is a good man," she explained. "And a reliable ally."

The flame-haired rider raised one eyebrow, "I believe you."

Karigan twisted her upper body to look at Garth, who had practically bored a hole in the back of her head with his eyes. He melted suddenly, blinking. "What of the other Eletians?"

The Captain cleared her throat, granting Garth a tempering look. "I was just about to address this issue," she told him, then glanced at Karigan. "Your Eletian was followed here by others. A man and a woman, both of whom claim to have met you. Their names are Rodithe and Sherae. They arrived last night."

Karigan cocked her head, then described the two she'd met in the fields. The Captain nodded, surprising Karigan by not inquiring about the circumstance of their meeting. "That sounds like them."

"Then yes, I know them. I'm not sure I trust the female... Sherae."

"Lhean doesn't even like her," The Captain said.

"How do you know?" Karigan asked. She briefly recalled their heated exchange, but she thought it had been situational.

"I asked him."

A sudden thought occurred to her, and before she could stop herself, she asked, "Did he lie to you?"

The Captain smiled, her face alight with interest. "No. He told me that he would not answer, for if he did, he would be forced to lie and was not keen on doing such a thing in my presence. Very perceptive, your Eletian."

"He's not _my_ Eletian," she grumbled before she could prevent it. She looked away quickly, having forgotten who she was talking to. The Captain was content to let the moment dissolve in silence before standing.

"I believe it is time to see the King."


	9. Chapter 9

Karigan was bogged down with a feeling of dread as she and Captain Mapstone approached the throne room. She picked idly at a loose thread hemming her greatcoat and thrust a stubborn lock of hair behind her ear. She couldn't remember the last time she experienced such anxiety- though she had walked this path many, many times before, it had always been in fond anticipation. This time was undoubtedly different. Zachary, King Zachary, was a married man. The man who had comforted her in the hayloft that faraway night, the man who met her on the battlements professing his love… That man was gone.

"Karigan," Laren said from her side. Her expression was grave, as if she was privy to secret thoughts. They had stopped short of the doors only feet from their Weapon sentinels. The Captain's brow smoothed and she allowed another tense moment to pass before saying, gently, "This is the same man you've always served. Nothing has changed."

Karigan tried not to allow her shock at the Captain's words and lingering pain to pervade her own features, ducking her head to avert her eyes. Surely they betrayed the conflict that her heart had waged on her mind. Surely, such a devastating, festering wound in her soul could not be obscured by her face.

Laren patiently waited while Karigan composed herself, drawing on a blank veil of duty. She nodded stiffly and together, they walked in stride into the throne room.

The King, previously seated and in deep discussion, turned his head to acknowledge their entrance and subsequently rose. He looked well, Karigan thought, despite the tale she'd heard of poisoned arrows. The throne at his side was occupied by the ever-ethereal Queen Estora. She sat somewhat rigidly, a battle raging on her own expression. Her golden hair was tucked neatly beneath its circlet and her slender hands were clasped at her abdomen in some display of tender protectiveness. She grinned wide, cheeks flushed, but her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. _Tears_, Karigan thought, _of happiness_? Or of despair at her return? She performed a bow as seemed appropriate, shielding her thoughts from whatever news that Estora might have to share. This was ground she was sure to tread cautiously.

"Rider Sir G'ladheon," Zachary greeted her formally. The individuals who he had been previously locked in discussion with turned to look. Amongst them was Lhean, who offered up a shallow smile as their eyes met. She relaxed a little, thinking that at the very least in this court that had proven nothing was for certain, she had a friend that she could rely on. How strange that of all the people she had fought alongside in her years of service, that the one she felt she could invest the most trust in was an Eletian? She returned his smile before sweeping her eyes to the King.

"I have heard much of your journey to Blackveil through the accounts of Rider Lynx and our Eletian visitor," he began. What was that elusive lilt that she detected as the King formed the final portion of his sentence? Was it suspicion? Jealousy…? _Surely not_, she chastised herself. "If you wish to expound on their reports, you may do so in time, but we have a more pressing matter to discuss."

Even the Captain looked surprised, narrowing her eyes a degree. Zachary even paused to glance aside at Estora. She rested her fingertips on his knuckles.

"It seems that the Eletians view you as a sort of ambassador. They think that you are the key to forging a new alliance between our nations and wish for you to discuss the prospect of an army in which Sacoridian and Eletian soldiers fight beneath the same banner, for the same cause."

The entire room fell silent save for the murmuring of diplomats.

"Majesty," Karigan said with notably crisp pronunciation, "Do I have the experience required for such a task?"

"The decision is yours to make. I am willing to discuss such a matter with the Eletian prince, but seeing as I cannot make the journey myself, I would ask that you… take up the mission."

She prepared to protest, but before her mouth could open, he interjected, "I would not settle for anyone less capable."

"Who will be accompanying me?" she asked.

This question touched a nerve within the King, for his acknowledgement fell to Lhean and he answered, "The negotiations are conditional in that you are the only ambassador and that you alone are escorted by our Eletian guests. They do not trust anyone else with admission into their lands."

Karigan looked to Lhean once more, finding that he was instead intent on the King, though over his shoulder she caught a familiar, fleeting glance of yellowish eyes. Sherae nodded encouragingly, coaxingly.

"I accept," Karigan answered before her thoughts rallied enough unification to deny the mission. It would give her valuable time to recover from the betrayal she'd felt- and it was safe. Safe in foreign lands, out of sight of the resplendent King and Queen.

"Very well," King Zachary answered. There was a clear undercurrent of reluctance in his guise and tone, but it was soon forgotten as he dismissed Karigan and resumed the discussion he had been attending to before her entrance had waylaid it. She and Laren walked out of the council in a similar daze of confusion, though the Captain was much more adept at hiding it. She ran a finger down her scar, jutting her chin out in thought.

"I had not been aware of this, Karigan," she said. "If I had been, I would have advised you not to accept the task that has been set before you. You have shouldered enough of the burden already."

"You heard him say that the Eletians asked for me specifically," Karigan responded, attention drawn towards the doors as they swung wide to emit Lhean. He hazarded a quick look between her and the Captain and strode down the corridor with a backwards glance, as if beckoning her to follow.

"I imagine you want to speak with him," Laren said after he was well out of earshot. She was frowning, but there was mischief in it. "Report back to me after you've eaten your midday meal."

Karigan moved to leave, but the Captain grasped her arm. "I shouldn't need to remind you of the responsibility you have just assumed. Don't allow yourself to get distracted."

"I will not," Karigan promised, then turning to follow the Eletian that had already disappeared.

She took her time in pursuit of Lhean, finding that his path led her out of the castle and through the adjacent stables. Her fingers brushed a placard that bore Condor's name, but when she peered within the stall, her horse was missing. Her heart sank, then pulsed harder with panic. The hay that lined the floor was clean, his hanging pail of oats empty.

"They're in the pasture."

Karigan looked over her shoulder at the sandy-haired youth who had addressed her. "Who?"

"The Eletian has been tending to Condor as well as Finch. He let them out to pasture but a few moments ago. You just missed him."

"Thanks," she said, hastening her steps in the direction the stablehand had given her. It didn't take long to catch up with the Eletian, for he and the two horses were in a cluster, both of them nosing at his bulging pockets while he laughed. Lip and nip as they did, they couldn't manage to reach the treasure buried within, and Lhean didn't seem to mind the equine assault at his overcoat.

Condor noticed her approach before Lhean did, pricking his ears and raising his head. The treats in the Eletian's pockets were forgotten and he trotted to Karigan with a whinny, mane and tail flying. She jogged towards him and they met midway, Condor nudging her shoulder with his nose and lowering his head so that she could loop her arm around his neck. She grasped his bridle, pulling him in to an embrace. "I think I missed you the most," Karigan mumbled into his neck, her voice thick with emotion. He chuffed a hay-sweetened breath in her face, lipping the hem of her coat experimentally. "Sorry, I don't have anything for you," she laughed, scrubbing her good hand across her eyes.

She glanced up in time to catch an apple as Lhean tossed it to her.

"He missed you as well," Lhean said.

Karigan strained to hear him over the buffeting of the wind and Condor's loud chewing as he split the apple with his teeth. She was suddenly grateful in the understanding that she may not have been allowed time between errands to visit Condor that day had the Eletian not given her a reason to follow him.

"Your Captain said that Rider horses are not usually decommissioned before age or injury ends their service," he said as he approached. Finch followed patiently in his steps, still nosing at his pockets. "Yet she released Finch to me."

"To speed our journey to Eletia, perhaps," Karigan stated, still gazing at Condor, yet watching Lhean from the corner of one eye.

"I did not think that you would accept," he began, notable caution in his voice. "You certainly did not waste much time deliberating." He left the statement open-ended to leave room for any amendments or corrections that she may make, but she had nothing to add but to gaze serenely into the fields which wavered in the wind. The cornflower sky was streaked with wisps of cloud, the horizon rimmed in autumnal fire. Her eyes slid closed and she inhaled a cool breath, filling her lungs to capacity before rationing it out in several exhales. The simple action of slowing down for a moment tamed her tumultuous sea of thoughts- and though they were settled, it did not dull the ache of all she'd seen and heard over the course of the morning.

"Yates is dead," she murmured, turning her face towards the wind.

Lhean's hand settled, warm and supportive, on her shoulder. Condor nibbled at it curiously.

"He is dead," Lhean confirmed, "And we have suffered many wounds, but that must fuel the fire, Karigan. We must harness our pain and put it to use in vanquishing Mornhavon. There remain those that we must defend. All is not lost."

She wrinkled her brow and squeezed her eyes shut all the tighter. Yates' face flashed through her mind, twisted and reddened in rage. "I should have defended him, but instead I killed him. He wasn't supposed to be there. None of it was right, not from the start." The words flowed easily in the Eletian's balmy presence; her aching heart poured out through her words, punctuated in sobs. "He didn't deserve any of this."

Even as thoughts of Yates were forcibly suppressed, images of the King and the flushed Estora invaded her mind in their stead. "She's with child, isn't she?" Karigan asked, recalling how the Queen had cupped her hands on her midsection. Though she tried to keep her voice even, it cracked with effort.

Lhean did not answer for a long moment. Karigan finally opened her eyes and turned her body sideways to look at him, finding his gaze locked on her. From the expression on his face, she guessed that he knew exactly who she was referring to.

"Several months," he said as awkwardly as his removed grace would allow. "She is several months pregnant. I cannot imagine why no one informed you."

Karigan clenched her teeth, thinking, _**I **__can_.

Lhean's fingers curled around her clavicle, softly, but with enough pressure to remind her of his touch. "What did you imagine was going to happen? Did you think that he would drop all semblance of tradition? You are a striking and strong individual, Karigan, but you know that your station would threaten the potency of his rule."

"My station," she repeated bitterly, "My station dictates that I risk my life time after time for Sacoridia, but I cannot claim the heart of the man I-"

She stopped short and half-pivoted to fully face him, her breath hitching in her throat. Lhean watched her with a slight crease between his eyebrows, angling his head back. He removed his hand from her shoulder, instead smoothing a lock of her hair away from her face as the wind teased it.

"Perhaps this journey will be cathartic for you," he said enigmatically. His eyes flicked to a point somewhere over her shoulder, in the distance, and he lowered his hand with a brief brush to her cheek. "We will speak more later."

He stepped away with a small bow, and Karigan caught a fleeting tinge of _something_ on face as he led Finch away. She wondered about it for a time, absently stroking Condor's neck until the crunch of gravel alongside the paddock alerted her to another presence. The King himself stood on the other side of the fence, his weapon a mere shadow yards behind. Now that he stood closer, she saw the dark circles beneath his eyes and how his face was drawn. Despite this, he looked every inch the royal he was, garbed in finery with his hair neatly combed.

"You don't have to do this," he said. He watched the retreating Eletian as well, a frown deeply carved into his countenance. He settled his attention on her. "You only just returned from Blackveil, barely escaping with your life. When I proposed the mission, I did not truly think that you would accept. I asked this of you to appease the Eletians and those in the delegation that would wish an alliance between us."

His words struck Karigan silent and between them there was no sound. Only Condor's contented chewing occupied the air.

"Please don't go," he urged, "Or at least depart at a later date. I have only just welcomed you home."

"At a later date?" Karigan asked. Her voice was icy, just like the image his pleas conjured in her mind. "In the depths of winter? Is that what you want?"

He captured a breath, clearly startled by her belligerent tone. Before he could speak again, the bristling Rider cut away from him, leading Condor away from the fence. The King climbed over it in all of his finery, charging after her.

"Karigan! All I ask is that you consider the strain that undertaking this expedition will surely put on you."

She froze midstep, snapping over one shoulder, "I am not delicate, Your Majesty. You need not worry over me."

He clasped her by a wrist, then circled her to seize the other. "What has gotten into you? You are not yourself."

She struggled to control her emotions, not daring to break free of his hold. She had to remind herself that Zachary was still the King and she… she was but a Green Rider, bound to his service. The events of the morning were cumulating to the point that they exhausted her and she swept her cheek against her shoulder, the fabric of her greatcoat coming back wet. "Was part of it to appease your queen?" she asked breathlessly.

Realization dawned on his face, but then confusion surfaced. "You spurned me, Karigan," he offered by means of an explanation, "You spurned me, and I didn't think this would affect you."

"I said I would not be your mistress," Karigan nearly whispered. "But I never spurned you." Her face was burning and she could swear that it was bright red for how it felt.

"You know it could never be," he said slowly, then groaned, "Oh, Karigan." His voice nearly quivered. "I was not even conscious when we wed, nor was I when we consummated the marriage."

His words only made her core smolder all the more, "Then you had every right to nullify it."

"Do you know what you ask of me?" he managed, anger creeping into his tone.

Karigan lowered her head. She knew exactly what she asked of him, and she knew it was self-centered and dangerous, perhaps even daft- but she was also aware of what her heart had yearned for. "I would have moved the world for you," she said, all traces of indignation absent from her voice. In its stead lingered the ghost of sorrow and regret, and she slid her hands from his, "But this is where our paths split. Just as you cannot forego your duties, I cannot forget mine. I need to prepare."

Zachary's anger cooled, her words striking a chord- they reached the man, not the King, and he flinched as they did so. She climbed on Condor's back and rode to the stables, her cheeks stinging the entire duration.

She found Captain Mapstone on an empty stomach and began the stages of planning for her new undertaking, her mind far away.


	10. Chapter 10

Karigan emerged from the Captain's study long after nightfall, bleary-eyed and exhausted. She and Laren had discussed her upcoming mission at length, plotting out routes and rations as well as covering the finer points of diplomatic conversation. The Captain wanted her to be prepared to further Sacoridian interest at every opportunity to take full advantage of whatever alliance may come from her interactions. Karigan's mind fairly buzzed with political turns of phrase. As the meeting had drawn to a close, Yates, Blackveil, and Mornhavon crept into the topic and Karigan had wept in the company of her Captain. Together, they had mourned their losses.

Now, she felt as if she had expended all of her tears; her heart was numb, a vacant flutter. The halls were haunted with the ghost of memory, but she passed straight through them. All she wanted was to close her door behind her and collapse on the bed, ignoring hunger pangs and her aching wrist. It had been sore since Zachary had seized it in the pasture earlier that day. She moved her arm this way and that, shrugging her shoulder to help with circulation. Out of the shadows melted a Weapon that moved to bar her way.

Even in the dim torchlight, Karigan discerned his familiar features easily. "Fastion," she greeted him, lowering her wounded arm back to her side.

"The King is distressed," he said, cutting straight to the point. "He is considering putting your undertaking on hold and keeping the Eletians here for further questioning."

"Considering?" Karigan asked. Surely he wouldn't have sent Fastion to speak with her about something he hadn't yet made a decision on.

The Weapon gave her a strange look, almost disappointed that she had missed the clandestine element in his words. "I'd guess he'll be finished deliberating by, say, noontime tomorrow."

Then it dawned on her that she was being warned. She attempted to shake the fog of weariness out of her head.

"His actions are rash and uncertain, and calling off the venture to Eletia might prove devastating to our joint efforts. We will likely require the Eletians' aid."

"I understand," Karigan said. "Thank you." She sprinted the rest of the way to her room, immediately setting about to stuffing items of clothing into her largest, most weatherworn pack. She included a roll of bandages, salve in a small jar, a tinderbox, and other miscellaneous things that made the inconvenience of travel easier to bear. After she was finished, she fastened it shut and sat stiffly on the edge of her bed, staring into the mirror in the wardrobe, the door to which was still ajar.

What she found there made her groan. Her eyes were rimmed in red, her nose a similar shade. She brought her fingertips experimentally to the welts on her temple, hissing as they touched the raised skin. She dare not do the same to her lip, for it throbbed after the long hours of conversation with the Captain. Her hair was a dark tangle about her shoulders and did little to counteract the feral look she'd acquired on the return journey to Sacor city.

Upon hearing voices outside of her door, she turned quickly back to the mirror and tried to untangle it with her fingers. The task was only half complete before she heard a knock.

"Come in," she said, standing up.

Garth blocked her doorway with his girth, his brow uncharacteristically knitted. "You expecting anyone?" he asked. Karigan caught a glimpse of fair hair behind Garth, then cracked a grin that she immediately regretted as pain tore across her face.

"You can, ow, let him in," she managed. "He's harmless."

Garth stepped aside, Lhean edging through the doorway in the small space the massive Rider provided. He had a pack on one shoulder and was wearing traveling garb. No doubt the news of the King's indecision had reached him as well.

"Let me know if you need anything," Garth rumbled as he shut the door. His footsteps didn't retreat down the hallway until a few moments later.

Lhean raised an eyebrow at her. "Your friends are very protective," he noted. He sat down his burden next to hers. When he straightened, he met her eyes and his smile dissipated. "Something troubles you."

"It's nothing," she answered a touch over-swiftly. After his look morphed into one of cool disbelief, she decided to expound further: "It has been a trying day." Her knees met the edge of the bed and conformed to it. She sank back into the covers, laying her wounded hand across her midsection. The Eletian still hovered by her bedside- she was sure that if Eletians could be awkward, it would look a lot like Lhean looked at this moment. The thought lent a touch of humor to the situation.

"Please sit down," came her muffled request. He did as she asked, taking a seat in the chair that Captain Mapstone had occupied that morning.

"I don't suppose a mender has looked at your injuries today?" he questioned.

She reluctantly pulled her good arm off of her face, rolling her head aside to glance at him. "No." The statement sounded more like a question, for she wondered exactly where he was going with this line of thought.

He shifted, producing a small tin from a coat pocket. It looked like the salve that Hana had kept on her person, but Karigan had long forgotten the name for it. Lhean dipped a finger in the herbal-smelling substance and gestured to her. She inched closer, expending as little effort as possible. The softly tingling numbness that she remembered as an effect of the salve would be a welcome exchange for the sharp, intermittent pain she was currently experiencing.

Lhean gently touched her lip, spreading it down the wound. At some point while she slept, one of the menders had removed her stitches, pulling some of the scabs open in the process. Lhean particularly focused on those areas, his motions hesitant and careful. Karigan watched him as he tended to the scrapes on her temple, how his face was set in concentration, his eyes alight in the low illumination that spilled through her window. She closed her own, feeling a pull of grogginess. She couldn't recall whether or not that was a product of the medicinal ointment.

Distantly, she heard Lhean draw back and shut the tin, and his hand returned to smooth back the hair at her brow.

"Get some rest. I will wake you when it is time," he murmured. She nearly toppled into the velvet-black depths of sleep, but something tethered her to consciousness- a nagging, persistent feeling that she had forgotten something. She squinted her eyes open, unable to do much more than look at the Eletian seated inches away. He waited patiently, thinking that she had something to say, his head tilted inquisitively to one side.

At length, she came up with something to occupy the silence, "Garth probably has the wrong idea."

A conflicted expression surfaced on Lhean's face before he abandoned it in favor of raised brows, "He thinks I mean you harm. All of them do."

She decided to play along. "Do you mean me harm, Lhean?"

After her question settled, he did not respond for several long moments. The grogginess loosened its hold on Karigan and she found herself sitting up in her bed, tucking her knees to her chest. "Lhean? Do you mean me harm?" she repeated. She had no explanation for why her heart was thrumming against her ribcage or why her cheeks felt aflame. It was certainly not a response one would normally have to a threat.

"Not intentionally," he answered. Karigan could see why his words were belated, for as he spoke them, his voice strained with effort. He had not wanted to voice this admittance. He licked his lips in a very mortal gesture, then continued, "My presence has only seemed to cause you turmoil since we arrived here." He allowed his eyes to raise, though they desperately wanted to linger on the floorboards, and drank in the Rider's countenance while she deliberated her response. Her dark hair was a fray about her shoulders, the single shoot of blonde loose and draped over her face. Those fathomless blue eyes were fixed on him and, not for the first time, he wanted to call their attention elsewhere. He couldn't help but feel as if he were being judged by a being far superior to himself, though it was an odd thought to correlate with Karigan.

Nonetheless, that depth and mystery intrigued him, acquiring gravity with which to draw him in. He shifted with well-disguised unease, resisting the pull as he had earlier in the pastures.

"What do you mean?" she finally asked.

"Your King distrusts us. Even the Riders wonder about my peoples' intentions-"

Karigan interrupted him, "I am not talking about your people, Lhean. I am asking: do you, as an individual, intend to do me harm?" The words surprised her as they left her tongue and her mind doubled back to comprehend what she had just asked. She wasn't so concerned as to whether or not the Eletians as a whole were plotting against her- no, she was more curious about Lhean. Confusion twisted her features, and Lhean turned his head, fixing her with a sideways look.

"No," he said, "I would never do anything to hurt you, Karigan."

"Good to know," she chirped, seeking to fracture the remaining tenseness hanging between them. "It's comforting to have a friend that I can rely on, especially when I will be surrounded by strangers."

"They hold you in high regard. You are Laurelyn-touched. You awakened our Sleepers and led them to safety." His gaze dropped to her brooch. "And now we have discovered another facet to your abilities. It would be unwise to make you uncomfortable. As much as your King may need us, we may yet need you. Etherea fades from this land, and so do we."

Karigan became aware that the Eletian had moved closer, though she hadn't been aware of this when it occurred. He was mere centimeters from her. She had to crane her head back to look him in the eye. His proximity was dizzying, for he was resplendent in the moonlight, silver and luminescent, a creature from songs and tales of her childhood that had materialized and was leaning in over her. She reached out with her good hand, resting it softly on his chest.

"Maybe Garth was right, after all, about what you were doing in my room" she said quite seriously.

They held one anothers' gaze for a split second, then both burst into laughter. Lhean's was genuine, of surprise and good humor- but Karigan's was confused and forced, perhaps even regretful. He had been so near, and to her soul, so wounded, she had desired that closeness. In fact, she still desired it.

After their laughter had died down and both were relaxed, Karigan stood, Lhean following her example.

"I will fetch you when it is time to depart," he told her, gathering his pack and shrugging it over one shoulder.

She nodded, not having the presence of mind to answer him with words. They stepped towards the door and Lhean reached for the latch, but Karigan's fingers settled on the back of his hand. A lump developed immediately in her throat. He turned his head to look at her questioningly. She stood on her toes, looping her good arm around his neck, and pressed her lips to the spot where his jaw and ear met, murmuring, "good night" against his skin. He smelled like pine and armor polish, his hair carrying the faint scent of forests.

He remained frozen until she pulled back, only then ducking down and resting his free hand on the small of her back. His fingers left the door and he drew her against him with both arms. "Sleep well, _neluthia_." And with that, he released her and disappeared down the hall, leaving her leaning in the frame and wondering if she had perhaps dreamt the entire exchange.


End file.
